Fallen Empires
by Scotch-Mist
Summary: Set after the fall of the Old Ones at the end of S4.
1. Chapter 1

**This was meant to be a one-off using S4 characters who may be involved in S5...or who may float away on the breeze never to be seen or heard of again...It is now going to two, or possibly three chapters...slightly shorter due to customer complaints...! A little story of divided loyalties...Reviews and comments are welcome...Any mistakes will be dealt with shortly...The Being Human characters belong to Toby Whithouse, the BBC, and the other very talented writers on the show.**

**FALLEN EMPIRES**

Chapter One

The woman stood alone on the dockside, watching the ripples in the ink-black water. From places like this, her kind had sailed out for the New World, their reach forever exceeding their grasp of humanity's own greed for new things, new places, and new people. New blood...The Old Ones had set off from this very place, if the rumours were correct, and Bristol, of course. Long voyages to distant lands...the odd ship's crew member meeting...a sad end...An Old One at the end of such a journey, their skin paper-thin, the veins...the hunger...

The woman sighed. All gone now...all the familiar names...and the greatest monster of them all...

She shivered. She had forgotten how cold this country could be...even in the summer, or what passed for one...always this damn cold...so many layers...never enough warmth in these old bones...

All gone now...

Well almost...

Who else is out there...waiting in the dark...?

"One day...I will dance on your grave..." The soft laugh...the delight dancing in his eyes...

"Oh child...you have so much to learn...my sweet, dark girl..."

She looked down at her feet. The ground around her looked so drab, grey ash all around. They'd been thorough, but not thorough enough. A gas explosion, apparently. She recognised a vampire cover story when she saw one, but this felt...different...Someone else's fingerprints on the truth. The scene felt too...sanitised...too clean for her kind's damage-limitation teams, the well-oiled, and financed, systems drawn up over so many years...humans and vampires hiding the bones...She thought she would feel something...some connection...when she finally stepped on the earth where the Old Ones had fallen...where their 'King' had fallen...arrogant to the end, she didn't doubt that...but there was nothing but grime and decay...A fitting resting place, perhaps...

She smiled that tight little smile. A little dance, Mr Snow...

They watched the woman spin around on her heel, not believing what they were seeing. She actually seemed to be dancing...The taller of the two men spoke first, whispering;

"I told you...Old Ones are mental..." The woman spun round and stopped, her dark eyes on the man who had spoken. His companion smiled uneasily.

"But they have very good hearing..." A little smile of acknowledgement from the woman, before she turned to face the water again, her dance seemingly ended. The gates behind the two men rattled. A stranger. The men hissed inhumanly at the newcomer, a wolf at this, their most hallowed place now...

"He's gone...get over it..." The arrogance in the stranger's voice...Both men stepped forward, as if to warn off the werewolf somehow. He took no notice, striding past them.

"Relax...I'm expected..." The woman raised her head at the sound of his voice, but she kept her eyes on the water. It had taken her a while to find him. A simple note had brought him here. A polite request. A meeting.

He walked towards the woman, his eyes searching for any hidden vantage points, any signs of a trap. Just two vampire bodyguards...she was sure of herself, he thought. That or she was a fool...She had long red hair, all the better for grabbing...he could break her neck...then stake her, if necessary. All dressed in black...she was in mourning...but there's something else there...a familiar sense of power...an Old One...so Hal Yorke wasn't the only one still officially 'breathing'...he remembered something from Bolivia...

He was only two feet away from her, when she finally turned to face him. There was a jolt of recognition on his part, which he quickly hid with a smirk. He bowed his head.

"Lady Mary...in the flesh..." She inclined her head at the use of her 'title'.

"I prefer Marina...but it will do for now...Mr...?" Like she didn't know his name...

"Milo. Just Milo..." Marina just smiled.

"No second name?"

"Not now..." The werewolf who survived...by running...she thought.

"We have that in common, at least." His smile was cold. She turned to her right, to face the remains of Stoker's. Chains on what was left. A sign stating it was 'awaiting re-development'...some hope...the vampires would spill every last drop of their blood to protect this, or at least be seen to...until new rulers came along. It was the natural order of things. New blood would come along, or very old blood would surface, and make itself known. This was their Gethsemane...or was it Golgotha? She never could remember her Bible...her mother had been right..."You'll end up on the wrong path..." Where to start?

"Milo...nice work...wonderfully executed. I must congratulate...those responsible...Do I detect a little helping hand in what must have been a spectacular explosion? Cooking oil..."

The sharp glint in her eye. Milo's face, a mask.

"A very big explosion, for a few bottles of chip fat..." He was giving nothing away. A wise wolf, she thought. He must already have faced reprisals...Come through unscathed...

"You're forgetting the ghost and the War Child..." Marina smiled.

"Of course..." She gazed over at the two bodyguards, who were watching them with interest. "That's the strange thing with prophecies...if a...person...believes in them enough...they have a way of coming true..." The glare had its intended response. The men looked away nervously, unsure of their new Lady and mistress...

"What will you do now?" Milo looked back at her, wondering what was coming next.

"Now?"

"Yes..." He shrugged.

"What do you care?" She brushed a piece of dust from her sleeve. That could've been a part of...Milo coughed. He's been intrigued to see who had sent the note; the old-fashioned language, a neat hand, but no signature:

_I would be very much obliged if you could meet with me at Stoker's, at your earliest convenience. I have a proposition to put to you..._

Marina looked up at him, her keen eyes taking in the vials of blood still hanging around his neck. A sensible precaution in uncertain times or something more...

"There's always a bigger threat out there, Milo...a bigger bully in the playground..." He snorted.

"What am I? The milk monitor?" She ignored the jibe, and stepped to one side.

"But will that be you, this time...or a demon of your own-making?" He turned as if to take in the scene for the first time, spreading his arms wide.

"The King is dead...long live the King..." His tone was patronising, the words that meant so much to vampires, as a mark of respect, sounded hollow and trite on his tongue. She stood for a moment, looking back at the water.

"I hope they salted this earth...we Old Ones can be...superstitious..." Milo shifted his feet, impatiently.

"Is this where you give me the old "work with me" speech, because I have to tell you, your pay and conditions aren't great..." Marina smiled, and reached into her coat for something. He stiffened, and reached automatically for a vial.

"Milo," she chided, "Soldier that you are, do you really think you would walk away breathing, if you managed to kill me?" He grinned.

"I'd take my chances. Your nightclub bouncers couldn't stop me..." She smiled again.

"May I?" So polite, thought Milo and such a famed monster...He shrugged. She pulled a slim envelope from her pocket, and handed it to him.

"I believe it is appropriate to offer a new...contract when one employer has...shall we say..."

"Been blown into a hundred million pieces?" Milo's smile widened.

"Agree or disagree, it makes no difference. But you and I both know there's something worse out there. I'm just interested to find out what, aren't you?"

"An Old One giving me a choice?" He could barely keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"It's a new world Milo..."

"Nah," he shook his head, "It's the same one. Too many of you...not enough of us..."

"Is that why you turned traitor...against your own kind, Milo..." her tone so pleasant, so soft.

"Don't give me that...What loyalty do I owe other werewolves? Did I ask to be scratched?" Marina chose that moment to sharpen her argument, moving closer to him, her voice dropping.

"Did you close your ears to their howls...their screams...Wolves would have been a bit hard to find in Bolivia...I'm guessing fights would have been a rarity...but he would have had them shipped in..." A glare as an answer. Point made, and understood. "I'm just wondering how you ended up in Mr Snow's tender care..." she stepped closer again. Milo stepped back, but he held his ground.

"Are you the mercenary you make out...or something more...?" Her dark eyes were scrutinising him; she was looking for something...

"You're a survivor...I give you that...an opportunist, perhaps, but I think you are something else..." She tilted her head to one side, the vampire sharpness there. "A fellow wanderer...a loner..." He didn't look away under her close gaze.

"I don't much like my own kind," she mused. Milo laughed.

"Got that in common..." She turned her head to the other side, still regarding him closely, like a spider watching a fly...

"And yet he trusted you...now what did you do, that would make Mr Snow himself trust a werewolf to stand at his side...at his table...what dark, dark deed did you do...?" He stayed silent, then he shook his head again, changing the subject. A loud sigh.

"You vampires...Snow's barely gone, but you lot will pick over his bones..."

"Dust, Milo..." she said pointedly.

"Whatever...you'll clamber over his grave...to stake each other, to grab just a fraction of that power...should keep you all busy and off our backs for a while...especially now the dirty little secret's out about our blood..." He squared up to her.

"Lady Bloody Mary..." he was enjoying himself, a sardonic grin on his face.

"He had your portrait on his study wall back in Bolivia..." That chilled her blood, alright. The malicious gleam in his eye, that dagger had gone straight to its mark. Her old eyes were unable to hide the flicker of unease, the revulsion...

"You were there in 1779...he told me all about you...one of his beloved 'lost children'...Do you know what he was planning for you...when he found you...what your place in the fall of humanity would have been?"

"Stop it..." She said it quietly. He ignored her, carrying on.

"Giving up your own child...and you have the nerve to lecture me on..."

"He was dying...I didn't know what...Hal was offering..." her voice trailed off, revealing too much.

"I thought so...Lady...they will tear you to pieces...keep the vampires together? That's what you want, isn't it?" He sniggered. "You'll be lucky to get out of the country with your fangs still intact...You really think you can run Head Office?" He started to walk round her in a circle, pressing his points home. "I'm guessing you are at the 'nice' part of your vampire cycle...You haven't killed in...How long? You know, back in Bolivia, they used to laugh at the vampires who tried to go dry...Snow would brick them up in the cellars...he'd leave a hole just big enough...to hear their cries...He'd throw them scraps from the table...then he'd chain any waifs and strays Hetty had picked up from the streets, to the bricks...the vampires would scratch and claw at the mortar...just to get a taste..."

"Enough!" The anger was there now, the vampire was reasserting herself. The bodyguards moved forward. She waved them away.

"Who are you really, Milo?"

"Me? I'm nobody...I just want to be on the winning side. Last time I looked, your slick operation got wiped out by a ghost and a baby...so..." He went to move away from her.

"And you weren't involved in any way..." He sighed.

"Think what you like...I'm guessing there aren't that many Old Ones left..."

"Not even in Bolivia?" she countered. He smiled that cruel smile, he'd have made a fine vampire, thought Marina.

"I heard the cupboard was pretty bare when they left..." That meant he had a full council...or whatever they were calling it nowadays...Hetty would be the youngest...with Wyndam gone, everyone would move up at least one place...Hal would have taken his high place again...It also meant Mr Snow had dealt with any dissenters, removing them, or eliminating them...that might make it easier...

Milo caught the calculating look.

"What do you want, Lady Mary? To pick up where he left off...?" But she wasn't listening...

"What happened to Hetty? The rumour is that she wasn't among the fallen..." He just smiled, _wouldn't you like to know..._

"Is she alive, or dead?" It would only work if Hetty was dead...then again...Hetty was afraid of Hal in the past...terrified, in fact...and he was the oldest one left now...that they knew of...she wouldn't cross him...he was only ever one thread away from snapping...and with Snow gone, the power should flow down to his remaining "children"...

"What are you planning, Lady Mary?" She'd captured the wolf's attention.

"Milo..." The Old One was a player..."It's not in your kind's best interest for the...wrong kind of vampires to take control of Head Office..." He laughed at that.

"As opposed to the _right_ kind of vampires?" Marina waited patiently, like a mother with an unruly child. Humour him...

"I'm suggesting an alliance..."

"My price just went up...the legendary Lady Bloody Mary wanting an alliance...times must be tough..." There was the edge she was looking for...

"Ever the mercenary..." Milo chuckled.

"Always." He eyed the bodyguards leaning against the gates. "I'm assuming you have a plan?"

A gleaming vampire smile.

"As a matter of fact, Milo, I do indeed..."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Marina walked through the empty building, her heels echoing in the silent rooms. Useless, vain things, hopeless for running in, but then Old Ones rarely ran anywhere…Polished wooden floors…old exhibits…Anglo-Saxon gold gleaming in one case, a Hussar's lance in another…She'd arrived late, her companion not exactly talkative…She'd insisted on Milo staying with the car. He'd parked a couple of streets away, smiled when she handed him a throwaway mobile…

"Who's going to…?" He'd scoffed at her, the measure was completely unnecessary…

"Someone is always listening…" And that's the problem, she thought. I don't know who is left…what is out there…

Avoiding the security cameras, the bane of vampires everywhere…photo identification…not a problem for new recruits…she'd have to think about that one…she bit back a smile…she was starting to think like…The modern world was pushing them further underground…back into the shadows…where they should be…Old tactics…wait in the ladies' loo 'til closing time. Wait for the security guard to take a final check, before he settled down to watch the telly. The normal instinct for a vampire was to make a slight detour, and relieve him of his blood…she licked her lips…but she was here on business. A small, old-fashioned museum, they probably didn't even know what exhibits they actually had…Regus would have felt right at home here…

Her eyes searched for the small brass name-plate she knew he would have. How many years had it been? Was it Vienna, or Prague? The university…She turned down a small corridor, shelves bursting with old, bound newspapers, lined the walls. The old wooden door at the end, the varnish nearly gone…he'd kept it all these years…A gift to a friend…the letters were a little rubbed and worn but…

_**Professor Matthew Chandler, B.A., B.S.C.**_

He would have other qualifications by now, but he'd kept that little plaque…He was officially retired, these days, she knew that much…but for an old friend…She breathed in, and chapped the door. A croaky cough answered her.

"Bob, what do you want…oh…come in…"

She opened the door. He sat behind a battered old desk, mug rings stained what little of the surface was visible, the rest was covered in piles of books and scattered papers. Some people never changed, she thought. He was giving her such a strange look; he clearly hadn't expected her to appear so soon after her phone call. She smiled, pleasantly at him. He was more grey-haired now, but the wire-rimmed glasses he'd always worn back then were gone, contact lenses now in their place. Or maybe he'd had laser surgery, humans actually paying to burn their eyes…the little ideas that floated into her old brain…A few more lines on his face…the now bemused look on his face as he gazed at her.

"Hello, Matthew…" He stood up, pushing an open drawer shut. She glimpsed a flash of silver…

"Marina…I…your letter…" She'd forgotten about that, but he'd sounded fine on the phone, if a little surprised. She smiled uneasily.

"I'm sorry…I should have…slight change of heart…it's good to see you, old friend…" She stepped forward, her arms open. He hesitated, for just a second, then came round from behind the desk. He hugged her; the bear hug she'd been expecting was gone. He felt like skin and bone. The cruelty of ageing, something she'd never known herself…

"It's just…I've never got used to…you don't change…so many years…not even a grey hair…" She smiled warmly, the old sense of humour was there, age couldn't take that away, well, not yet…Oh I do change, she thought, under my skin…She'd saved him from a vampire attack years ago, they'd been so close once…she'd even considered…no…it would have been a mistake to recruit him…Now was the time for the debt to be paid. He'd had fifty-odd years, a human life…a family…

"You're not well…" He glanced away, uncomfortable at her piercing stare.

"Just a cough…a touch of lumbago…" She raised a questioning eyebrow. He shrugged;

"Well I am nearly…" he grinned, "I suppose I'd be a mere stripling in your world…" _My world_, she mused.

"A newborn…" she agreed, her smile now wistful. "How have you been, since the retirement?" She looked around the place, as disorganised as ever, but that was Matthew all over, a brain as sharp as a pin, but the messiest person…

"Oh…I potter about…endless cups of tea…plant things in the window boxes…"

"No one since…" He'd married a sweet-natured woman after…she'd passed ten years back…sadness in his eyes…

"No…" He leaned back against the desk.

"How are the children? Luke and…"

"Elizabeth…Good, good…Liz is married, an artist…" One of two human professions Snow would have valued…artists would have survived, as recruits or pampered employees, their skills needed to spread the images of the new 'management'. Vampires and their vanity…Posters for the billboards…portraits of the Old Ones...hiding the veins with oil and canvas...

"...and Luke works for the government..." That was interesting. The last time she'd asked about him he had been on a gap-year trip to South America...she'd warned against_ that_ one...

"Avoid Bolivia..." I have such a suspicious mind, she thought to herself.

"Doesn't everyone these days?" she said wryly. Matthew laughed, but she'd caught something there...Time for the business at hand.

"Did you find what I was looking for?" she broached the subject tentatively. The humour left his face. He glanced down at a package beside his desk. It had taken him a while to locate it, lost among the stored boxes of past lives, past horrors.

"Yes...can I ask what..." There was a tremor in his voice. She shook her head;

"It's better that you don't know, Matthew. I wouldn't want you to be any more involved than...I wouldn't want you to come to any harm..." He nodded slowly in reply.

"I'm old, Marina...your letter said...you were going to end it..." She looked away.

"There was an explosion..." she was reluctant to discuss vampire politics with him, but...

"Your world almost ended..." she looked back at him. "There will be...restructuring in the...in our world...the old order is..." she waved her hands to emphasise her point.

"Will this help?" he asked quietly, his eyes on the package.

"I hope so...what do I owe you?" He looked up at her, affronted at the mention of money.

"I don't want...I'm helping you as a friend, Marina. What will you do with...it?"

"A myth...to create another myth..." she said, aware of how mysterious she sounded. Matthew's heartbeat was increasing, that was odd. They were old friends; any past history was just that...he was becoming increasingly nervous, the longer she stood there...

"What's wrong, Matthew?" She looked closer at him, a little nerve under his left eye...imperceptible changes...to a human, anyway...a slight bead of sweat on his upper lip...a tremor in that normally steady hand...signs of his age...or...Her eyes lit on a bottle of whisky sitting on the floor behind the wastepaper bin.

"I'm making you nervous...why?" she asked him, curious. He laughed it off.

"It's not...I...I just can't believe you're really here..." She felt her vampire temper rise.

"You're lying to me, Matthew...I've never harmed you, or your family...why are you suddenly so nervous of me..."

He stepped back so quickly, for a human his age...his hand grasped for the drawer handle...he pulled out a small wooden crucifix. Marina's eyes flashed black, but she didn't flinch from the symbol.

"I never told you, did I? That they don't work on Old Ones..." she said it calmly, her temper was biting at her to correct his slight, to end his long life for daring to...

"We were friends for so long, and this is how you...who could possibly scare you more than _us_...?" He backed away from her, stumbling against the bookshelves. She turned away from him.

"I'm trying to save humanity...not..." She reached into the drawer, pulling out a small silver tape recorder. "Typical Matthew...you do know mobile phones can record conversations these days..." she clicked the stop button.

"Who was listening?" She asked, coolly. He was biting his lip now, he'd draw blood if he kept that up...She'd forgotten that trait, he always did it when nervous...His answer was too slow in coming.

"No one..." She smiled patiently at him.

"Matthew...I'm nearly five hundred years old...I know when a human is lying to me...and I know you wouldn't risk my...anger...unless someone had..." She could see the fear in his eyes now...

"He said...he would...they don't do anything...they clear up after your kind...the Box Tunnel...Marina...I was asked to study the...bodies...they didn't kill them for their blood...they stuffed a magazine down one of the throats of..." He swallowed; the memory had haunted him ever since...

Herrick's boy, Mitchell, she snarled...

"That was nothing to do with me," she said, angrily. "I'm not a..."

_No...not yet...but...soon..._

"You're a historian, an archaeologist, why would anyone ask you to..." Then it dawned on her. Whoever it was knew about their relationship...he had betrayed her after all...Matthew saw her look change.

"I didn't tell them about us...they knew...they knew about you," he stressed.

"What was the threat...?" she said softly, her eyes never leaving his.

"They would make me disappear...they'd set Luke up...they can do it...they've been concealing evidence...your existence...anything supernatural..." he was shaking as he said it.

"Why? We have our own ways...our own methods..." She'd never heard of any rumours, although..."Are they human?" she asked quietly.

"Yes..." he replied, sounding so sure. Allegedly human, she thought, threatening other humans...A long forgotten conversation, over a barely cold body...a rare, shared kill...

_"Don't you realise...haven't you worked it out...there's someone out there...we should be known about...all the bodies...there's someone, or something else, out there, on the edges, in the shadows..."_ She remembered her answer;

_"You are being ridiculous...we pay well...humans are easily bought_..." Her blood-drunk arrogance...she hadn't listened...

"Have you betrayed me over...our business transaction?" She pointed to the package.

"No...I wouldn't..." His eyes were pleading with her. He knew her determined look, the same one she had worn all those years back...as she drove the stake into his attacker...

"Because if you are lying to me..." He shook his head, wringing his hands.

"Marina...I loved you...why would I..." Her face was set in stone, no humanity there...a threat to their survival was always met the same way...He swallowed, knowing what would happen next, what had to happen..."I suppose this means..." Her hand rested on the door handle, she turned the key in the lock.

"I will make it quick..." she said, tonelessly, "and I will not go after your children Matthew..." There were tears in his eyes.

"Thank you..." He pinched at the spot where his glasses used to sit. An acceptance. He wouldn't resist..."What was it like..." She turned, her own eyes misting now...

"What?" _She really didn't want him to be her first...her first in so long..._

"To see a king executed...you told me once, you were there when Charles the First was...history...actually being there when..." The old inquisitive Matthew...even at the end...She was thoughtful. All those years ago...standing at Hal's side, a rising star herself in the vampire ranks...as the king was led out...

"We never learn from our mistakes...vampires...humans...maybe if we ever did...the world would quake at how far we could go..." Matthew Chandler gave a weak smile.

"How close did...we come to..." She gave him such a forceful look, before answering;

"The world would have burned...it may yet..." She was thinking of Hal in his chair, the vampire nature seething to claw its way out...fifty-five years...the longest 'kind' phase yet...how he'd done that...she'd never had familiars...she'd known ghosts...werewolves...she hadn't killed in all that time...but she'd never given up the blood...

"What was his name...?" Matthew looked up at her, not quite understanding.

"The man...the _'human'_ who threatened you..." she asked softly, "what was his name?"

Matthew looked down at the small silver photo frame that sat on his desk. His family...the one he'd had, the life he'd had, because Marina had walked away. She had saved him twice, and this was how he'd repaid her...

"Rook...he said his name was Rook." He stroked the surface of the photo. "His eyes were so cold, Marina...I thought he was a vampire, until I saw him in that mirror..." He pointed over his shoulder, just as she reached out, and snapped his neck, the rage and hunger finally winning again...her first human kill in over fifty years...

_Yes...at last...I was beginning to think you'd never let me out..._

She backed away from him, until she felt the door behind her, tears falling down her face. She let her body slide slowly to the floor, giving in to the blood, his blood, as it flowed through her, warming her skin. The taste...like nothing she'd ever...that wasn't right...she remembered it now...the taste of a kill...the taking of that life...the hopes and fears...the bitter-sweetness of the blood...Why did it have to be him...

_He betrayed you..._

He was my friend.

_He was only a human..._

He was my friend.

She knew her eyes were black. She tried to stand, but her knees buckled, refusing to take her weight. She fumbled in her pocket for the cheap mobile.

"Milo..." she breathed into the phone. She counted the seconds until he tapped the door. She managed to twist round to unlock the door, but he had to push her aside with the door to get it open. His eyes took in Matthew's body, slumped in his chair. He could almost be asleep, if it wasn't for the unnatural way his neck lay...

"Get peckish, did you?" Contempt dripped from his every pore.

The hunger relented, letting her body relax. She got slowly to her feet.

"How did that feel?" he asked, tersely.

"Wonderful...terrible...never enough..." she was still coming down from the blood.

"Well you're honest, for a vampire anyway..." he drawled.

She remembered the security guard. He caught her look.

"I thought I'd stay close. The guard's having a little sleep. Should be fine, bit of a sore head. I cut the wires to the CCTV, and the alarm. Just as well, really..." he looked round at the body. He went to knock the papers off the desk, a lighter in his hand. She grabbed his arm. She was stronger than she looked, he thought.

"No...I want him to be found like that..." Milo paused, flipping the lighter shut.

"You're the boss. Did you get it?" She nodded. He went to inspect the damage. "Very neat job, you wouldn't know you'd fed from him..." she closed her eyes for a second, before answering;

"They will..."

He looked up at her, a vicious gleam in his eye. A statement, to draw someone out...

"Neck broken...no sign of..." The fair-haired man in the suit was staring into Matthew Chandler's dead eyes, lifting one eyelid, then the other, listening to the 'police' surgeon drone on. "There's hardly any blood in the body...his colour..."

_There wouldn't be..._

He scowled at the surgeon.

"I am well aware this is a Type 1 situation...query Type 3 involvement..." The other man actually leapt back, as the smartly dressed man stood up, turned round, and opened a drawer in the desk. He glared at the empty drawer, rueing the fact they'd had no time to fit more modern surveillance equipment. Chandler's call hadn't been answered immediately, an underling had written him off as 'dealt with.' Covering up the aftermath of the incident in Barry had taken more time and manpower than he'd thought it would. An increasing number of smaller incidents were being reported; the supernatural creatures seemed to be running, or floating round, in circles. Remove evidence, catalogue, and file...oh, for a normal Monday morning...The last few months, Type 1's had been moving around the country, moving from city to city, a growing confidence...then a silence had fallen, not long after the clearly 'staged' arrest of the so-called Box Tunnel killer. The vampires had dealt with a significant amount of the clearing up. An old name had surfaced, Edgar Wyndam, and disappeared just as quickly. Several police officers had disappeared, or retired, in the Barry area. Strangely, no records existed of pensions being paid out, or redundancy payments for that matter. It had alerted his organisation, joining the dots, and crossing the...etc, etc...The body bag was being unzipped and laid, as he glanced at his watch;

"Enough chit-chat," he said sternly. The brass name-plate was already being unscrewed from its home on the door.

"This was a direct attack on one of us, Mr Rook," whispered the surgeon. The fair-haired man demurred;

"An associate..." He gazed around the room, what had they been looking for? The garbled message Chandler had left was, ambiguous, to say the least...

"Remove everything...we will file and collate everything later...best to move on...Has the guard been debriefed?" A thin man to his right responded.

"Yes, sir. A small robbery, a sneak thief...a Mr Alan Martin...matches the requirements. Currently on bail for..." Mr Rook nodded.

"Good. Time, gentlemen..." he stopped the watch. "Acceptable." He stepped out into the midday sun, his eyes squinting in the light.

"He said...the man had cold, eyes...like a vampire?" Milo adjusted the eyepieces of the binoculars, sharpening the focus. "He fits the bill...that's your Mr Rook..." he handed the binoculars over to Marina. She smiled benignly at him, not even bothering to raise them to her eyes. They were standing in a long deserted 1960s' office block, a yellowing net curtain covering the window. The cramped kitchen overlooked the back of the museum. A non-descript dark grey van sat, its engine idling.

"He reminds me of someone," Milo muttered, his hands in his pockets. "You sure he's not one of you?" Marina's eyes were fixed on the fair-haired man, who was returning a watch to his pocket.

"Matthew...he said he could see this Rook's face in the mirror, so unless one of us has evolved to appear as if by magic...what about you? Can you smell him?" Milo leant one hand against the window.

"Nah...I can smell you...you asked..." he said, enjoying her discomfort. "It's like spices and vanilla...and metal..." She snapped back the obvious retort; well you don't exactly smell...

"Can't see that perfume doing well this Christmas..." Milo chuckled at that one. She was unusual, this Old One...

Mr Rook's eyes swung directly up to the window, as though he knew she was standing there...Milo went to pull her back. Marina resisted him for a moment.

"I see you...Mr Rook..." she murmured, tapping the window sill as she said each word. Milo was edgy, the survival instinct kicking in;

"You need to go...you need to go now..." She placed a gloved hand on his chest, correcting him;

"_We_ need to go now, Milo..." He nodded grimly in agreement. She grabbed the package, and a tattered old briefcase she'd taken from Matthew's study, and hurried down the stairwell after Milo, the metal storm door clanged shut behind them, as they made for the street. Neither spoke until they were in the car, putting as much distance between them and Rook as possible.

"Matthew was right...he has such cold eyes...dead eyes..." she confided. Milo pulled a face;

"You hadn't seen Snow in how many years...?!" but the vampire didn't smile. She angled round in the passenger seat.

"Now do you believe me...something is out there..."

An old vampire motto...

_Keep your enemies close...and your friends at arm's length..._


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

**"You are insane…you do know that?"**

**"Quite possibly…we all end up slightly…mad…it does tend to go hand in hand with eternity…"**

"Keep driving, Milo, just keep…" Marina was squinting at the sun, a pile of papers sat in her lap. They'd headed into London, the endless streets, cars clogging up the arteries…she could remember when all this was fields…London was much smaller then…the villages surrounding it, like Tyburn, or Highgate, swallowed up by the great city…it was disorientating, at times, she could remember coaches and fog lamps…lamplighters in later days too, shining a light to scare away the darkness…

"Where to?" snapped Milo, impatiently. She looked up. The jumble of roads around her, what seemed like a neverending stream of semi-detached houses, neat rows of humanity lined up…she didn't recognise anything. How long had it been since she was last in London…Regent's Park flashed past…elegant Georgian terraces…white as snow...at last, something she recognised…the parties…the screams…

"Lady Mary…" The brusque tone brought her back. Her eyes caught a road sign. Oxford…He was gone, but the house would still be there…she hoped. A little familiarity…

"I take it the Westway will take us…west?" She enquired. Milo chuckled.

"Yeah…just tell me when to stop. What have you got there?" He nodded at the pile of papers.

Marina was looking at a vampire curriculum vitae of sorts…her own life laid bare…There were gaps, of course, her kind had a way of falling off the radar, but someone was well-informed. Her relationship with Matthew documented…the break-up…notes on her history, and 'personality'…Did they have someone inside…an Old One? Unlikely, Snow was too close to them all, the blood connection that kept the Old Ones strong, but chained them to Snow's own twisted schemes and desires…A small footnote…her entry to the country…She would have to review procedures. She had acted quickly, not knowing the exact time they would get to Britain, paying off an unknown official. That mistake would not be repeated…The normal ways of entering a country, an island in particular, for an Old One at least, hadn't been available to her. A paper trail…someone had been keeping a very close eye on the supernatural…

The C.V. only went back as far as 1855…the Crimea…That had been the war that broke the vampires' long-held battlefield 'cover'. Mirrors had no place on a field of blood, but cameras…new-fangled ways of capturing images…the vampires had twisted human beliefs about not wanting their human images captured, to suit themselves. Cameras would harm souls, damage the living, and damn the dead…Of all man's inventions, that was the one that had harmed vampires the most. Mirrors could be avoided, if you were sharp enough, and paid attention to your surroundings, but cameras…Snow had ordered the deaths of it's makers…but the genie had well and truly been released, it's bottle left behind as the new technology rose in prominence. Humans had lapped up images of death, like…vampires…

"Someone likes paperwork," she speculated, "but who are they?" She said it quietly, to herself, forgetting Milo's presence for a moment. A jab of hunger hit her. She blinked, and took a deep breath. The ragged edge began to sheer at her nerves. She bit her lip. An old memory..."Replace one addiction with another…"

"Coffee…I need coffee…" She gestured to the motorway services sign.

"Don't think they'll do Bolivian…" grinned Milo.

"Anything, but…" she grimaced, as they pulled in to an anonymous car park, heaving with late afternoon traffic. She slipped her sunglasses on, and took a sideways look at her companion. He'd slipped the vial of his blood inside the collar of his black jacket. Camouflage of another kind…she gathered up the papers, slipped them inside the battered case, and opened the passenger side door.

"Can't be too careful…" Her eyes took in her surroundings. Lorry drivers, and their cabs, families with bickering children, businessmen, and women these days, all travelling along concrete lines…that was one of the striking differences between humans and vampires. To a human, the destination was the most important part, to a vampire, it was the journey…When you had time on your side, you lost that fear, that life would slip past so quickly…to vampires, a year was merely the blink of an eye…she was aware of Milo's acute gaze, studying her. His sarcastic smile...

"I suppose you remember..." She smiled back politely. That she did...

"There was a village to that side," she pointed to the far side of the motorway, before turning to face a clump of trees, now circled with concrete. She'd recognised the name, though the place was so completely altered. She stepped up, on to the wall that surrounded the service station, and clasped at the metal railings. She could see a church in the distance, sitting squat in its own graveyard, marooned by progress. Modern boxes, what passed for homes these days sat around it, their windows glinting in the sun. She remembered timber houses...coaches passing through...always being on the move...

"There was a very good inn, just over there. A very dark inn..." she turned, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "These roads were fine hunting grounds for us, back then..." She let go of the railing, stepping back without looking. Milo reached out to steady her, almost automatically. He dropped his hand as quickly, noting the lack of a 'thank you.' She wiped the dust from her hands.

"Lawless days..." she said quietly, the past welcoming her again.

"You sound like you miss them..." Milo was assessing her reactions, looking for the slightest weakness. She'd definitely hardened, since her kill. He thought there was something almost glacial about her attitude now, a growing disconnection. The woman who had whispered; "He was dying...I didn't know..." would not be there for much longer. She raised her eyes to meet his.

"It was all so much simpler in those days...Coffee..." She turned on her heel, and marched straight ahead, into the crowd, heartbeats thundering in her brain.

"Daylight robbery...these prices..." Milo grunted. Marina beamed up at him, as he sat down opposite her, clanking a mug down.

"Highway robbery..." she argued. He shook his head.

"Don't tell me..." He caught her drift quickly.

"The odd one of us took to the road...yes..." He leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah...I'm guessing a pistol shot wouldn't have deterred your lot..." She gave him a brittle smile, before answering;

"Hanging...stabbing...shooting...you only had to worry about stray branches...and the odd Reverend on board the coaches..." She was a chip off the old block, alright, thought Milo. The same dark humour, the cold glare, the cruelty just there, beneath the beautiful veneer. Hal Yorke had recruited her, not long after his own making. Milo had found Mr Snow gazing up at her painting, rapt, those ancient eyes taking in her undoubted beauty.

"Such a lost child...always wandering...troubled like her maker, but..." the monster had sighed, captivated. "Edgar will find her...and bring her home...a suitable period of...readjustment ...she will return to the fold...I think Russia would suit her...those old palaces...she prefers a wintry climate...it matches her heart..."

Marina gulped the coffee down, barely tasting it. There were too many people around her, too many sights and sounds, temptation...

Milo drew a page from the file, a rough, identikit picture. Lady Mary, in computerised pen and ink. A decent stab, but not quite right. The Old One rose, and pushed her chair in.

"You look like a serial killer..." He said it without looking up at her.

"Well...I am, Milo..." she whispered, barely audible, her eyes scanning the coffee bar. Her fingernails were gouging into her palms, time to go.

Back in the car, the only instruction she gave Milo was to continue to head west, towards Oxford. She'd been so eager to leave behind the confines of London, with all its inhabitants, far behind her. That sparked his curiosity. Of course, there was the small matter of that professor's body, and whoever the men in suits were, but she was playing her cards close. She was rifling through the papers again.

"They probably have a file on everyone..." she was poring over the paperwork, her expression unreadable.

"Pen pushers..." he snorted, "cleaners..." she looked up at the road ahead.

"Turn right, here," she nudged Milo's arm. They were going through Oxford, heading north now...

"Keeping files on all of us...not just vampires..." she left that thought hanging. Milo shrugged.

"Mine would be pretty short..."

"You think?" She retorted. "Classifying us as Types..." She was scanning through a second file of papers that Matthew had concealed. No names of whatever organisation was behind Mr Rook, and his cold eyes...A secret branch of government, or the more mundane; civil servants who covered up the supernatural's 'accidents'...she wasn't sure which option was more preferable...

"And they have no connection with you?" Her own sharp gaze was locked on Milo's face. He sighed.

"Lady Mary...Do I look like a cleaner?" No, she considered, but then she had no idea just who or what the werewolf was...She turned her attention back to the file, running her finger down a list.

Places, dates, Types involved in 'incidents'...a cataloguing system of some kind at the end of the columns...Snow and Wyndam might have known about them, but they were gone...Hal? She'd never heard him speak about any human involvement, beyond the normal...the ones, whose loyalty was bought and paid for, the individuals who looked the other way, and were rewarded...or removed...as needed. Vampires cleaned up their own mess, human collaborators were only involved when absolutely necessary. They were a weak spot; their consciences always needed salving...

"What are the types?" Milo asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Type 1...looks like vampires...you are a Type 3..." Another snort, then a wry chuckle.

"Typical. Werewolves...always the underdogs..." Marina twisted in her seat.

"They underestimate your kind, Milo. I do not..." she said firmly. He gave her a brief salute. "It looks like Type 2 may be ghosts...Type 4 appear to be zombies...now they are a bit...nasty...you would need cleaners after them..." Milo's head shot round. "Just checking you were paying attention, Milo...Type 0 must be human..." her voice drifted off.

"Funny that, I thought I was still human," said Milo, sarcastically.

"Not according to whoever this lot are..." she mused, her mind on other things. A small, picture perfect village flashed past the car. Honey-coloured cottages...wait...was that...? They were through the nameless village before she could catch her bearings, but the scene was familiar. It hadn't changed much in the hundred and fifty or so years since she'd last been there, if it was...

"Turn around."

"You're the boss." Milo swerved the car round, narrowly avoiding the car behind them. A blast of a horn greeted them. "Like I care..." he snapped. A sign proclaimed the name of the village, a tub of immaculately tended flowers lay beneath it. Deddington.

"You've got to be kidding." Milo sucked in a breath.

"We vampires do have a twisted sense of humour..." Marina replied, with a sly smile. And some vampires in particular...He would have known it as Daedintun...The last time she'd set foot in this village, she had stepped from a carriage, in one of her most callous 'phases'...unrelenting, merciless...Milo turned the car left, into the village square. The shop fronts were different, of course, but the air of the place was still the same. A genteel Oxfordshire village, the church sitting peacefully, the unusual carvings were no doubt still in place, guarding the entrance silently. If only the villagers knew, what had gone on under their noses...just who had lived here...but, then again, this house was a kind of retreat...the country retreat of an Old acquaintance...

Certain properties were known only to Old Ones, a precaution that had served them well over the years. Shells of identities, fictitious people, born only on paper, dying at appropriate intervals; money changing hands to smooth over any difficulties...then blood being drawn to cover any fang marks...It was normal practice for houses, estates, money, even, to pass down for generations of vampires, never once passing into 'living' hands. The vampires' hidden network, it's fortunes waxing and waning through human kings and queens, parliament after parliament...Vampires looked after their own...whilst wolves stayed solitary creatures, for the most part. Packs were rare...but not unheard of...at least in the old days...

He wouldn't mind, she thought, as she stared at the house. Wherever he was now...he was probably shaking his head, smiling benevolently at the arrogance Snow had shown...the "old everyone in one place, Mr Snow...one last gathering of the Old Ones, before the nightmare began...tut, tut..." She could picture him, standing in her apartment in Paris, the annoyance written on his face, as they'd argued...

"He may well drag us all into Hell to achieve his goal..." And Snow had done just that...a ghost and a baby...she smiled to herself, her eyes shining, forgetting about the werewolf at her side, and her own plans for the future...

"Who lives in a house like this...?" drawled Milo, peering at the gloomy house; it sat on the side of a short lane. One way in, one way out. If ever a house gave the impression of being owned by a supernatural, it was that one...solid Victorian architecture, windows neat in their frames. A dismal, dank, cheerless house, most likely haunted by some miserly old sod...

"No, it's that one." Marina pointed to the high wall to their right. A tower could be seen, above the well-preserved wall. They left the car behind, and walked round to the entrance, a tall, railed gate. There was another entrance though, a hidden one. She remembered that one too...She pushed gently. It gave with barely a creak of metal. A house of different eras lay in front of them. There had been a residence on this site since the 1300s...at least...The grounds surrounding it were neat; someone was still taking care of them, even though the house's owner was now just ashes. She knocked the door, half-expecting to see him open it...but there was no reply. No ghost to welcome or berate her. Her fingers traced along the wall, looking for the key she knew would be there, somewhere...She spun round, remembering...the small, brick-lined coal shed...the key would be there, under the potting table...left for Old guests...

"You lot never live somewhere normal, like a maisonette in Deptford..." grumbled Milo, as she turned the key in the lock. No security alarm to bother with here, she thought, she bet the locals thought it was haunted and stayed away...A fine layer of dust had settled on the wooden floor. Marina swept in, crossing the threshold with barely a blink, comfortable in her surroundings.

"Who lived here, then?" quizzed Milo. He was standing, taking in the staircase. Marina glanced at him.

"It was owned by an Old One...one of the fallen..." she said it matter-of-fact. "They didn't live here permanently. We move around...it's our nature." The house felt cold, but she had felt the sudden urge to come there, to feel, what? Her 'family' was gone...that was what the younger vampires failed to understand. The Old Ones were a family...as much as she hated each and every one of them in turn; they were a part of her...they were in her blood...

She'd questioned Milo closely over the identity of the final gathering of the Old Ones, her face never once revealing her true feelings. She had learnt from a master, after all...The self-styled vampire 'Queen' had been at Snow's side...no doubt dressed in ermine...an old favourite of her's, Marina recalled. That demon in female form had been responsible for wiping out whole villages in her time, merely on a whim...the hunger sated, the granite-eyed dead stare as she continued to massacre the young and the old alike...her temper raging. Wyndam complaining half-heartedly at having to organise the clear-up, knowing the answer he would be given, already...

"But she does it so well, Edgar," Snow would murmur, stroking that pampered vixen's cheek.

She had startled Milo with one question in particular.

"The Old Ones who came over...I take it they were not named in communiqués...they were only listed as numbers...?" He'd been unable to hide his surprise.

"Yeah...Mr Snow was named...everyone else was..." So...Mr Snow hadn't completely trusted UK Operations...Wyndam had been sent on ahead, the trusted lieutenant, to prepare the ground, but his demise had caused a headache. The takeover had been years in the planning, but the discovery of the imminent birth of the War Child...that had changed the game...UK Ops had known about the impending arrival of the Old Ones, but not all the details...They hadn't known the identities...that could prove useful to her...now...Mr Snow...who were you wary of...the younger generation...or old enemies...the supernatural, or humanity...

"No one was there to greet them, either?" She could almost see the pained look of disdain on Snow's face...the very nerve...

"There was no one at Avonmouth Docks. Some twat named Cutler; he came in to Stoker's. Tried to make a show of some idea he'd cooked up...expose werewolves...make humanity more scared of us than you..." Like that would have worked, she'd thought caustically. It would have lasted five minutes; until the real nature of the vampire threat became obvious...people would have been lining up to be scratched...but not all...that was one of humanity's defects...and Snow would have played on that...Some would have fought, whilst others would have welcomed them with open arms, and veins...

"And that was when the missing piece of the War Child scroll was revealed?" She had asked, smoothly. The werewolf had nodded.

"Yeah...death of the Godhead...the War Child had to survive..." The child should have been surrounded with their most vicious representatives, locked away in the darkest dungeon...not allowed to be carried in, like a piece of baggage...to be blown away with...She stopped herself, she was thinking...like the Old One she was...

"And you saw the exact runes, on the skin parchment..." Her eyes had narrowed, if the slightest detail was off...

"Yeah..." He had drawn the symbols, not realising that she had paid attention in the past. Regus wasn't the only one to trawl old libraries and museums, looking for clues...She considered for a moment, then commented;

"A little strange that no one from UK Ops was there..." Her piercing, calculating gaze. Milo stared straight back at her.

"I thought that. Then again, Mr Snow back on British soil...I'd be running if I were them. They allowed an Old One to be killed by a werewolf...on their watch..." He grinned, darkly. "He wasn't best pleased when he got the call..."

That was an understatement. Snow had screamed with raw rage, ordering the removal of his 'pets' to a wolf pit, then proceeded to have them 'inhumanely' destroyed, crucifying them one by one. The screams had rent the air. Even Hetty had considered it overkill...her black eyes had fastened on Milo, gauging his reaction to his 'brothers' executions. He'd boarded the plane to Britain the next day, glad to be out of the way of his master, and his wrath...

"Do not fail me, Milo." Snow had said, calmly, the self-possession back in place...

Marina walked over the whole house, opening every door and window. Milo followed her, bemused.

"Old superstitions," she explained. "Letting the spirits outs..." He'd had the nerve to laugh at that. In reality, she was looking for any signs of recent occupation. No clothes hung in the wardrobes; no food was in the fridge. No blood anywhere, either. And he would have needed it, after such a long journey...the dark veins had been much more pronounced than the last time they had met...She was sure he would have come here...And done what, Marina? Left a note, telling you what to do in the event of every Old One going up in an inferno? She hesitated at the door to his study. She'd asked Milo, politely, to get some supplies from the local shops. He'd asked her how long they were staying.

"Not long," she replied. He got the message. She wanted to be alone with her memories.

The door opened with a soft click. The room was exactly as she remembered. Wood panelling, a large fireplace, the only difference was the Arts and Crafts surround, carved with vines and leaves. Chesterfield sofas and varnished wooden floorboards. Books all around, some volumes would date back to Shakespeare and beyond...She rooted through some newspapers that lay on the desk. They were dated to not long before his...she slowly opened the desk drawers, it felt like an invasion of his privacy, somehow. Nothing. They were completely bare. Her eyes searched the room, but it felt empty, cold, its owner was gone...

_But you are still here, Marina..._

By the time Milo returned, she had lit the fire, looking for some warmth in that chilly room, and laid the table in the kitchen.

"You took your time," she said, a more human hunger was nipping at her temper now.

"Yeah, well I kind of stand out here...I had to go to the next village. There were a few too many noses, if you catch my drift..." She raised her eyebrows.

"Not many werewolves in Oxfordshire," she said dryly, not rising to the bait. "Most of them were...removed in the 1500s..." Milo dumped the bag of shopping on the table, then unzipped his jacket. The vial of blood still hung on a cord round his neck.

"That's the one thing you vampires have in your favour...you don't discriminate...everyone's food to you..."

"Not everyone," she said, pointedly.

"True. But your lot will pretty much recruit anyone..." She bit her tongue, then answered;

"Whereas wolves..." Her point hit home. The surly look she got back. He dragged a chair across the floor and sat down. His own nerves were tense. It would be a Full Moon tomorrow. He would need to find somewhere to change soon, somewhere close. A reconnoitre was badly needed. That was partly why he'd been so long. Nosey-parkers didn't bother him, but changing in the middle of the market-place...that would be a little too public...it'd keep the locals in gossip for years...

"Where will you change, tomorrow night? Where will you go?" The jolt, as though she'd read his mind. Snow had been the same, identifying weaknesses and strengths, the little signs that others missed...always calculating...He shrugged.

"That's my concern, not yours." She nodded, understanding. Mind your own business, I'll mind mine...

Marina settled down for the night in the study. Milo had gone upstairs long before her, seemingly preferring his own company. She locked the study door behind her, not quite willing to trust a werewolf. She might need the few seconds that stout lock would give her...

She sat alone with her ghosts, as the fire burned brightly in the grate. Memories of lovers, as well as her victims. Often they had been one and the same. She hadn't asked to be recruited; she had fought with every last breath, then resisted the hunger that had torn at her, refusing to give in to it...pointless really, it would always win. Matthew's death...his killing...had proved that. She was what she was...why deny it?

"Go after the dark souls..." she'd been told. And it had helped. For a while, at least. The innocent souls...the ones who were in the wrong place...the ones who presumed that her warm smile was genuine, that didn't know that underneath lay a heart of stone...those were the kills she regretted, the ones that played on repeat, in glorious technicolour, searing her brain. Vampires rarely admitted to feeling a need to grieve, Old Ones never. It was a trait not to be encouraged, one that you shed when you became a vampire. Leave it to humans to wallow in, vampires moved on, always forward, never look back...that was how you went mad...but that night she felt the loss of the others deeply. Monsters, everyone, but then so was she. She felt him keenly, now, in this room. Superstition, Marina, she thought sadly. Her kind did not leave any ghosts, create them, yes, but they left no physical impressions behind, apart from a pile of ashes. No families to tend their resting place...they were cast aside with the rubbish...Perhaps it was better that way. The slate could never be wiped clean...

"Lady Mary..." She snapped awake at the sound of the door being tried, then a loud knock. She'd had the same old nightmare, a blood-red dream. She could feel the sharp points of her fangs on her lips. She blinked the blackness away. The hunger was playing its usual tricks upon her. She unlocked the door. Milo stood, dressed and ready for whatever she was planning for the day.

"Your trust is so..." he mocked.

"Heart-warming, Milo?" she replied smoothly, not in the mood for an argument. He grinned.

"Can we get out of here? I'm beginning to like the home comforts...freezing cold, no food, it's like being back in Bolivia..." As if, she thought. Snow would have kept his bodyguard well; it was a while since he had gone hungry.

"Give me ten minutes, and we will be back on the road. Time to pay a little house call on someone," she said, the sweet smile back on her face. She gazed around the house one last time, as she pulled the front door to. She supposed it would be regarded as her property now...Hal was still detoxing in Wales...She pocketed the key. Milo noticed, made no comment.

"Whose place was it anyway?" He was curious, but trying not to show it. Marina gazed back at the house. It really was a beautiful place, a peaceful place...considering...

"Wyndam's."

* * *

"Wakey-wakey!" The figure in the bed moved, just an inch. "I said...WAKEY-WAKEY!"

The figure turned, and drew back the covers an inch. Not far enough for Milo, who yanked the covers down. A ferrety look of surprise...and fear...

"Oh...Christ..."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"Morning!" Milo threw back the curtains, casting dust everywhere, as well as a piercing shaft of sunlight, directly on to the rumpled face of Regus, the Vampire Recorder. He raised his hand to his eyes, not quite believing who was standing in the room.

"Milo..." he coughed. The werewolf grinned fiercely.

"Hello Regus...long time no see..." Not long enough, thought the vampire, as his eyes darted round the room, catching sight of the other figure that shouldn't be there. She stood quietly in the doorway, a faint look of disapproval on her face.

"Milo...alright if I get dressed before you stake me?" he pleaded, looking down at the covers that now lay on the floor. Milo nodded, then shook his head at Regus's choice of clothes. A tea-stained, raggy t-shirt, at least a size too small, and superhero boxers...The wolf chuckled to himself, then moved to one side.

"You've met, I take it?" Marina's voice was cool. This place was even worse than the last tip she'd found him in. He couldn't possibly have gone through all the money she'd given him already. Blood pouches from what she presumed to be the local hospital lay on a rickety table in the middle of the room. Hunting never was Regus's strong point...she was a fine one to talk...

Regus's eyes narrowed. The Old One had killed since their last meeting, he could tell. The sharp glint in those blue eyes...the stillness...the self-possession...

"Lady Mary...sorry..." he blustered at the cold look she gave him. "Marina...back so soon...?! And you're not dead...proper dead...I mean..." his gaze drifted towards Milo, who was leaning against what passed for a counter in the 'kitchen' of the flat. Marina walked slowly in to the room, her eyes fixed on the other vampire.

"Well, obviously not, Regus." She pulled a cheap plastic chair over, wiping it down with her sleeve, before sitting down. Her discomfort at her surroundings was clear. He spotted a small leather case at her feet. Curiosity got the better of him. He peered over the edge of the bed. She waved her hand at him.

"Get dressed Regus...this is important...I have something I want to discuss with you..." She averted her eyes whilst he hurriedly dressed.

"We've been moving around...Michaela's not exactly a natural housewife..." he stammered, acknowledging the heaped mess that was now his home. Milo grinned.

"Avoiding the wannabes? The ones who want to know just how the Hell it happened, Regus?" The werewolf stood, an arrogant look on his face. "I can imagine that the Vampire Recorder's suddenly a very popular little vampire..." the scorn in his voice...

"Well, funny you should say that..." Regus stopped himself at the look Marina gave him. Beware...An Old One and a werewolf...in his book...trouble brewing...

He rubbed his hands together, and beamed a fake smile.

"I'll just put the kettle on, shall I?"

* * *

Marina sat, the mug in her hand barely touched. She'd asked Regus if he'd ever heard of such a thing as disinfectant. He'd smiled at that, she'd never be able to deny Hal was her maker with that quirk...Milo had sniffed at the tea, as though it was poison, then downed it quickly.

"Biscuit?" asked Regus, nervously. The werewolf looked at him suspiciously. "From a packet?" Regus crinkled the packet, smiling hesitantly. Milo shrugged.

"In that case..." He took the whole packet from the vampire. Regus sat down on the bed, his eyes going between his unexpected visitors.

"Now...where were we..." Marina looked up at him, her face serious. The plan...

"You are insane...you do know that?" Regus couldn't believe his ears. Their world was in absolute chaos...maybe if she had every evil thug they had at her disposal...

"Quite possibly...we all end up slightly...mad...it does tend to go hand in hand with eternity..." She said it calmly, she'd been expecting him to balk at the very notion, but she was counting on his natural vampire ego...Regus held up a hand.

"Excuse me...ahem...completely sane here...and certificated too...that psychiatrist was very tasty..." He was prevaricating again, thought Marina. There he goes with that "scratch my head, look a bit daft, hope she goes away" look...

"It'll never work..." he shook his head violently, then there was the familiar look of mad concentration. "No...But..." She took the initiative. She got to her feet.

"Milo...could you keep an eye out for Michaela? Where is she, anyway?"

"The shopping centre..." said Regus, "She's going for a spot of breakfast...one of the shop assistants laughed at her wonderful poetry...don't know why..."

"I don't think this is a very safe area...for a newborn..." She said it sweetly enough, but the look Milo gave her was distinctly unfriendly. He knew he was being sidetracked, and didn't like it one bit. Partners, but only so far...Marina stepped towards him, and whispered;

"I know just how to handle Regus...leave him to me..."

"What does she look like?" he grunted. Regus beamed with lovesick puppy pride, raising his eyes to the pock-marked ceiling.

"Like a dark angel..." Marina leaned into Milo, and whispered;

"Like a sulky, over-made-up, twenty-something Goth..." He would smell her before he saw her anyway. He nodded, then turned to smirk at Regus.

"Sounds just like your type, Regus..." The vampire smiled blissfully, seemingly unaware of the sarcasm behind the werewolf's words. Milo slammed the door behind him. Regus's smile vanished.

"He was Snow's personal bodyguard...you are insane, Marina...you can't trust him..." The gloves were off...

"Do you think I don't know that, Regus? There has to be someone in charge of Head Office...One way or another, that has to be an Old One...and in case you hadn't noticed, there aren't many of us left...Hal won't do it...he can't do it...You know what will happen if he..." she sighed, suddenly feeling her age.

"Did he release you?" Regus asked quietly, remembering their last meeting. She raised her head slowly.

"Yes." Her eyes met his. There was disbelief there.

"But that means...you could end it...you don't have to do this...you will be ripped apart...why put yourself through it?"

She continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"Hal...I think he's the oldest of us left...but...each cycle worsens...with Snow gone...the hunger...the rage..." The nerves would be tightening...it was the longest he'd ever managed without snapping...

Regus looked away, uncomfortable at the subject. He remembered Hal's worst phases...and shivered. Almost all vampires had Snow's blood in them somewhere...Hal and Marina, more than most. Both were once trusted lieutenants...each had been welcomed into the Old Ones' family...the secret ceremonies behind firmly closed doors...the screams...each had most likely drunk his blood...

He cleared his throat.

"You're gambling that there's no one older than him around, to claim the throne..." She smiled patiently.

"Do you have a better idea, Regus?" She sighed, laced her fingers together, and sat down again. "Do I really have to threaten to kill your...Michaela...for you to realise how serious I am?" She leaned forward in her chair. "This is our future, I'm talking about...the future of our kind...He was a First One, Regus, the last known one...you know what that means..."

He lowered his eyes in response. Oh, yes...he knew what it meant...and all the upstarts would be coming out of the shadows, vying for position. So many Old Ones gone too...the ancient ruling class gone in a matter of seconds...thousands of years of malign terror, power and influence...the things they'd all seen...and done...

"How did you know that Hal survived the explosion?" asked Marina, evenly. Regus looked up warily. He'd made a mistake.

"You didn't question it, when I mentioned his name. Is it common knowledge that he is still alive...that he got out...?" There was no emotion on her face that Regus could see, and that normally meant trouble. Old Ones tended to go very quiet...right _before..._

"No...I went back...I wanted to be there...when they arrived..."

"To seek favour, Regus?" He quickly shook his head.

"No...I turned up late...there were fire engines...ambulances...the emergency services were running around trying to figure out just what had happened...grey vans...I went back to the guesthouse...I saw Hal walk in...then I..."

"Ran for the hills?" There was no disapproval there, just a smile of understanding. He didn't know which was worse. "I had to see for myself..."

She nodded, understanding the pull, all too well. She waited a moment before answering him.

"It's still hard to believe that it happened, isn't it? That Snow's gone..."

Regus sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached for his glasses, breathed heavily on them, then began to wipe them clean. He was happy with Michaela. Her poetry, whilst not exactly...had grown on him. Marina was one of the old school, she kept her word, a rare quality for a vampire. If she said she would kill someone, she would carry out the threat. He'd been on his own for so long...Michaela thought the sun shone out of him...for the moment at least...

"Need I remind you that you are also an Old One...with a protégé...you didn't happen to make her your heir...?" The gentle hint of a threat...he drew in a breath. A tingle of unease..._oh God...here we go..._

"I was never inducted...I had nothing to do with planning the takeover...I was very far down the food chain..." Marina smiled wryly at his choice of words. She raised her hand.

"I may be willing to overlook your...understandable weakness...others might not..." she fixed him with a steely look, then she spoke quietly, making every word count.

"You betrayed your own kind, Regus...you gave the ghost and the young werewolf two parts of our most sacred, and precious texts...the War Child Scroll...you even handed them back the War Child herself...and ran...Imagine what would happen if that little nugget of information got out..." Regus visibly paled at the prospect. "You handed the means of our destruction to our enemies..."

His mouth twitched, he knew she had him. He could barely speak, his mouth was so dry.

"How..." She gave him a tight smile.

"It's my job to know. I joined the dots, Regus...that's how we Old Ones survive, isn't it?" It was a statement, not a question. She had tracked him down too easily, again. Her features softened.

"I don't make idle threats, you know that. Michaela, sweet as she is, should never have been recruited..." He took a deep breath, then through gritted teeth, said;

"I'll do it." Even saying the words felt like a release to him. He'd survived this long, whilst more vicious vampires had ended up in vacuum cleaners...

Marina brightened.

"Good. There are so few of us left, Regus, I would hate to lose you as a..." she hesitated to use the word 'friend'...what were they really...

"An ally..." finished Regus, sounding hopeful. He'd never really thought about his role in the whole sorry tale, not since he'd recruited Michaela. He had killed his own kind, albeit under duress, they were going to kill him, but even though they were twats, they were his own kind, and that was looked down on. Hal was a proper Old One...and he'd killed Fergus...but if it ever got out about the baby...that was unforgivable...he swallowed...safety in numbers...

Marina noticed his agitation, and moved to reassure him.

"If it doesn't work, I take full responsibility...you can say I used my Old One...mind games...on you..." Regus fiddled with his glasses, before muttering under his breath;

"Can I have that in writing?" She smiled sweetly; as she snapped open the case.

"Of course..." She removed a package from the case. She carried it over to the table, where she laid it down gently. His eyes lit on its content, as she opened its wrappings.

"How...?" He was amazed...this stuff shouldn't exist...

"Let's just say a certain museum has some...less savoury exhibits...in it's basement...someone owed me a favour...Regus...this has to pass muster...I don't know who's still out there..."

He gave her a ferrety-smile, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. The glee there...like a child whose Christmas's had all come at once...

"Leave it with me...I am the Vampire Recorder, after all...the ink has to be the right consistency...that's the secret..."

She stood back from the table, to give Regus more room to work. He smoothed out the paper, and lifted a sheet of appeared at first glance to be a pale sheet of leather. Which it was, in a way...ancient human skin...It was worn and weathered, hundreds of years old. She'd known that the minute she'd set eyes on it, accustomed as she was to her kind's own peculiar way of recording its history. As to where it had come from...her educated guess was a trader, most likely one who had dealt with vampires at one time or another, the very act of removing a person's skin smacked of a lack of human feeling to her...was it really so different from killing a person for their blood, she wondered...How Matthew's museum had ended up with it...He'd thought it had come from the bodysnatching days...where the students and tutors of the universities had turned a blind eye to where all those cadavers had come from...

"There was a bill of sale attached to it, originally. It said 1828...from a late 'gentleman's' estate..."

"Oh it's older than that," Regus's eyes glittered as he said it, the historian in him coming to the fore. "How it's survived..." he straightened his glasses, they'd slipped down his nose in his haste. "I'd say at least 500...maybe even 1000 years old..."

Marina's left hand gripped the table edge. That meant it could have come from the Dark Times...there had been an uprising...a generation of older vampires had been destroyed, whilst new ones were created...In England, the Anglo-Saxons had come under sustained attack by the Vikings, then the Conquest...the vampires had used both as means to slip into the country...Wyndam had been amongst those recruited in those uncertain times...it would add an authentic note to her plans...

"How do you know?" She queried, just making sure. Regus gave her an exasperated look.

"I lived and breathed the Scrolls...I know old when I see it...I'll tell you something else...it's not just any old skin...its _werewolf_ skin..."

"What?!" Marina could barely contain her surprise. Regus preened. He pointed a grimy finger at the skin.

"That small nick at the top...it's not from when whoever it was, was flayed...it's too rough...their skin is sometimes thicker...something to do with transformations...which means, given how old I think it is..." he narrowed his eyes, analysing the facts in his head..."Whoever it was...was probably French...there were a lot of werewolves there at the time...hence the fact there weren't many of _us_ around in France then..."

"You're wasted, Regus..." she was impressed, she had to admit.

"I know," he said proudly. "They all laughed at me...Regus and his books...Regus and his wolves..."

"But not Snow..." she said softly, "or Wyndam..." The sudden serious look in his eyes.

"No..." he replied, as he laid the skin down on the table. He remembered unpacking the tools of his trade in Stoker's, as Wyndam entered, a takeaway coffee in one hand, his mobile in the other. He shook his head at the name above the door, and smiled benignly;

"The youth of today..." His sharp eyes scanning the advance party's new base in Barry, seeing the runes on the blackboard that Regus had already begun to scribble out in his rough hand. The all-too familiar clean-up in progress, remove evidence, identify a fall-guy for John Mitchell and the delicious Daisy's messy massacre...the CCTV footage alone would have made interesting viewing...if only they'd found it...His eyes had come to rest on the skin parchments, as Regus unrolled them to check on their condition. They'd survived the long journey intact, that was the main thing. Regus had caught his strange, possessed look. It was there for just a second, then it was gone.

"History...Regus..." he said, in a clipped tone. He pulled a face at the taste of his coffee. "I'd forgotten how bad coffee was here...remind me to have a barista recruited...there must be one decent one in the place..." Regus had smiled politely, with the appropriate reverence.

"I just wish I had more of it...there's too many gaps...take this one..." He'd lifted the edge of one parchment. "I get told, 'Regus...decode this...' There's a third of it missing...I ask about it, I'm told it was lost years ago..." The glint in Wyndam's eye, as he sipped his coffee...oh...he'd known about that Scroll alright...What he would give to have that final piece in his hands...his life's work...

"How did it happen, Regus? I'm told it was a werewolf that killed him..." As though she could read his mind...claptrap, he thought to himself.

"Haven't a clue. He was here when I arrived, ordering 'retirements', and 'transfers'...you know, happy as Larry, then I got sent to pick up something in London...the altar..." She nodded. "I get a knock at the door...this twat Griffin's standing there, in a police uniform, looking like his Granny's just died..."Wyndam's dead..." The look on his face...One minute he was there, the next...gone...I don't even know if it was a stake, or werewolves' blood..."

"What happened to his remains?" she enquired gently.

"No idea. Like I said, don't know if he was dust or...if he...melted down...my guess is he got too cocky...they get to a thousand...they think they're invincible...Retribution was taken..." _It would have been,_ she thought...

Marina knew it was time to play her trump card. Her way of enticing the Vampire Recorder...

"Mr Snow had the final piece...it completed the dream...the prophecy of the two brothers..." Regus couldn't hide his astonishment, or his excitement.

"Do you have it?" he asked, eagerly. He'd waited so long to find it...wondering just what it said...

"It could work..." he said, thoughtful. "All the other vampires who could have seen the final piece are dead..." Marina interrupted him.

"What about Hetty?" The doubt was still there in her mind. "She has a nasty habit of turning up at the most inconvenient of times..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I haven't heard anything...she was supposed to have got out...but if she's alive...she's keeping her head down...Besides...she never bothered with studying our history. She wanted a quiet life; towards the end anyway...You really don't trust Milo, do you?"

"Trust a werewolf, who would willingly work for us...Not completely, Regus..." she said slyly. He turned his attention back to the skin, and continued to examine it closely. "Could anyone else have seen the final piece?" she asked, cautiously. He shook his head.

"Only the closest in Snow's court...and they went up in the blast at Stoker's...He must have kept that piece of the Scroll well-hidden. I think our history was broken up, years ago, the better to keep everything as secret as possible...the artefacts, the documents, skin or otherwise...everything was being gathered together in Bolivia..." He licked his lips in anticipation.

"Did you get a copy of the final piece of the Scroll?" His eager, hopeful eyes...

"Not an exact one. It went up in the explosion." She handed him a sheet of A4 paper. It contained the runes that Milo had drawn, but in her more knowing hand. She knew the meaning behind every stroke of those runes. Regus paused, the paper in his hand. So many years of studying the ancient records...to finally see their future...

"You have been busy, Marina." She tilted her head slightly.

"Not as busy as someone. The place where they fell...it had been completely cleared...it was...too clean..." He was puzzled at that.

"But the systems aren't really in place anymore...it's every vamp for himself, or herself," he corrected himself at her glance. "Right now, everyone's running round like headless chickens..."

"Exactly. That's why I'm worried about your safety, Regus, and our kind's..." He opened the piece of paper, his eyes pouring over the figures. "A hint of weakness now..." she insisted. He sank down on to the bed, in deep concentration.

"No wonder Snow kept this secret...Death of the Godhead...the War Child had to survive for us to..." He took a deep breath. "Griffin...he wanted me to kill the baby...he can't have known about this...he got off lightly with that werewolf's blood...Snow would have had his guts for garters..._literally..."_ And his, too, he thought to himself...a very narrow escape...

"Milo is the only other witness to what was on the Scroll...who could question the validity...I doubt Snow showed him how to read the runes, but..." Regus nodded his head slowly;

"The biggest, baddest werewolf in the playground...Keep him close...He thinks he has something on you...do you have something on him...?" A sharp smile.

"Not yet...but I will...He turned his back on his own kind...he intrigues me..." was all she said.

"All Old Ones know...knew...the myths...some more than others..." he commented, fidgeting with his glasses. "I wonder if it could be read another way...the Devil is in the details...Would explain why we didn't wipe the werewolves out..." Marina laughed harshly.

"We weren't exactly being _nice_ to them either...trapping them...taunting them...skinning them..."

"Well...we are a bit...twisted..." he said, with a grin. "You know...grab the War Child...you might have a way to break Snow's hold...his control...Wyndam must have seen this...maybe Snow wanted rid of him..." Marina gave him a weary smile.

"You're thinking too hard...A vampire could lose themselves in the Scrolls if they're not careful...We have to look to the future...our place in this world...Do you think I want us to be persecuted again? You were around as well as I, in those days..." He remembered those days, when they'd been hunted down, the seeds being sown for the war that would "stop all the clocks."

"Well some dead wood could be trimmed away..." his voice died at her glare.

"Do you really think I want us to be in charge of this world? Do you really think it would be any better, for either kind, if we were to rule...We are meant to be in the dark...too many of us...not enough of them..." He nodded, understanding her perfectly.

"Famine...pestilence...locusts...killing of the first born..." he shuddered at that thought, then his eyes glazed over. "Then again, it might be fun..." He felt the look of ice through his back.

"Mr Snow may have lived through those times.._.allegedly_...I have no desire to revisit past glories..." she was so thirsty..."Do you have any..." He glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah...just whack the kettle on..."

"No," she said patiently, "I meant..."

"Oh...I'm a rubbish host...you meant..." he stood up. "Yeah...I've got some proper A positive, it's a flask I'm afraid, but it's good...I know someone who knows someone in the Blood Transfusion Service..." he tapped his nose, and winked. "It's almost as good as a..." he stopped himself, yet again.

"How did you guess, Regus?" she said softly.

"A fellow traveller...That was your first in how long...?" He had his back to her, as he poured the blood into an almost clean mug. It should have been crystal, or a goblet, after her first kill in years...He didn't want to see the look in her eyes. He stirred the blood with a spoon, for something to do, his eyes examining the smeared tiles above the sink.

"Fifty years." _So long since her last kill..._

"That's a long time for anyone, let alone an Old One..." He said it calmly, he knew she'd drunk blood but not killed, until now...

"Yes it is..." A rare admission for Lady Mary...He sighed.

"Who was it?" He turned and handed her the mug, then offered her the flask, she looked as though she needed it more than he did. She could almost taste the blood...the scent of it...

"No one important..." A lie, they both knew. He turned away, keen to lighten the mood.

"I mean, imagine it, if you'd ever told me humans would give away their blood for tea and biccies...that's priceless...we could use that...no violence..." He knew her eyes had flashed black at the first sip.

"I'll put it on the 'to do' list..." she said dryly, taking another draught of the blood. It was still warm, thanks to the flask. She drained the mug, before speaking again.

"You confirmed what Milo told me...about the prophecy." She ran a finger around the rim of the mug. "I recognised the symbols. He said there were other scrolls on the table, but he never saw them opened." Regus pursed his lips.

"Probably the original scrolls of the remaining dreams...which means they also went up in the explosion..." Marina demurred.

"Perhaps." His brain was working fast, calculating how many vampires were left alive, who could read or interpret the runes...who would be able to question it...smoke and mirrors...

"It was a fierce fire...would have consumed a lot..." he tapped the table.

"You mentioned grey vans..." Marina spoke softly, bringing him back.

"I thought they were mortuary vans, but most of the men were in smart suits."

"Really?" She said it casually, as though it was nothing...So Regus hadn't apparently heard of Mr Rook and his team either. She let the matter drop for the moment.

"I meant to ask, how's Hal? I didn't stop to..." he said it sheepishly. He'd surprised her with the question. His interest seemed genuine.

"He drank blood. He hasn't killed, but he's going dry again. Fifty-odd years he's managed, without a drop. He's living with the young wolf and a new ghost."

"Familiars...I've heard about the practice, never known it work for quite so long. The last ones he had must have been very special." Marina's eyes flashed at that remark. He'd forgotten for a second that Hal had been her maker. She had been special too...once.

Her head turned towards the door.

"Why was he trusted? Milo..." Regus followed her gaze.

"I don't know. Maybe he killed his own kind. Snow kept him close in Bolivia. He rarely moved without him." He paused. "I saw him kill a vampire with one of those blood capsule thingy's...very messy...Snow just laughed..." A haunted expression. Marina noticed it, and knew what he was thinking. The same double-edged thoughts she'd had herself. Disbelief...and fear at the same time...

"It still feels odd...saying his name...doesn't it?" Regus scratched his head.

"Still can't believe he's gone..." The sound of a scuffle, and a woman's voice protesting loudly.

"I don't care if you _are_ a werewolf..." The strange sight of a pouting, hissing Michaela, being held at arm's length by a stone-faced Milo, who was itching to crack open one of his blood vials...

"Time to go, Regus." The vampire nodded his agreement.

"Michaela...sweetheart...Lady Mary needs me...a matter of great importance...and it's a bit...well...dangerous...so if you want to..." Milo released her, and she sidled up to Regus.

"Is my brave, dark master going to be a hero...again...?" She wore such a simpering look of adoration, that Marina raised her eyebrows. Milo shook his head in disgust. Regus, at least, had the sense to look shamefaced as his girlfriend hugged him.

"Yes, Michaela...I think I am..."

* * *

"Thank Christ that's over..." croaked Milo, his throat felt raw...the sharpening of his senses had already begun...the night would be long enough without that shrieking...

"Can I help it if she finds me irresistible?" pleaded Regus, who closed his mouth quickly at the look Marina gave him.

"Down here?" Milo asked. They were walking down a lane towards a run-down block of sheds and disused garages.

"Number twenty-one..." Regus announced, as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He stopped at an old-fashioned set of wooden doors, which bore a rusty-looking padlock. He unlocked the door, muttering;

"Mr Snow promised me the British Museum...I got a _garage..."_ He pulled open the doors to reveal a handful of boxes. There was a loud thud, as part of the roof fell in, and landed at his feet.

"Our history resting in here..." Marina stepped past him, glancing at the moisture glistening on what was left of the roof. "Not exactly ideal conditions for ancient artefacts..." She said it without a hint of irony. Regus bristled.

"Well I had to improvise..."

Milo felt a sharp tear in his nerves. He drew in a sharp, tight breath. Not long now, 'til the change. He clenched his fists, trying not to show how tense he was. It had crept up on him...that was unusual. They were in the middle of a city, one he didn't know well. Marina swung round, her own senses heightened by the blood.

"You need to go now...don't you?" She looked up at the sky, then down at her watch, then her eyes fastened on Milo's face, assessing how long until the change became dangerous, for them all...

"I need to get to the moors..." Milo practically shouted the words, as the wolf made itself known...He felt his stomach lurch, the fury was rippling under his skin...Regus jumped back from him, but Marina stood stock still, calculating on just how long it would be now...

"There isn't time..." she said, flatly. Milo glared at her, as another raft of pain shot through him.

"I am not changing here..." he spluttered, the familiar pain shot into his bones...every sinew was on fire...The Old One was watching him so closely, waiting for him to snap.

"Regus...there must be somewhere nearby...somewhere...secure..."

"No!" yelled Milo. She raised her head. Old Ones were not used to having their judgement questioned, especially not by werewolves.

"Yes..." she hissed. "This is not up for discussion...Regus!" she glared at him, he was cowering to their left, just wondering how fast he could run...

"Yes...yes..." he stammered, "I know a place...but he won't like it..."


	5. Chapter 5

FALLEN EMPIRES

Chapter Five

"No way..."

They'd sped through deserted streets, Marina at the wheel, taking directions from an increasingly flustered Regus in the passenger seat.

"Need somewhere secluded...running water if possible...that's best when we don't know an area..." He seemed to be ticking off a checklist in his head, as he flicked through a road atlas.

"It's down here...at least I think it is..." he could hear grunts from the backseat, as Milo struggled to keep the wolf at bay a little longer. "I haven't got me charts with me...we've got about fifteen minutes..." he said nervously. Werewolves were fascinating creatures to him, but being in a confined space with one about to transform...

Marina glanced in the mirror. One look at Milo's face, told her they didn't have that long. Once his eyes changed...Regus thumped at her arm, she hit the brakes, and the car slammed to a halt.

"Down there..." He pointed to a side street that led down, away from the main road. "It's a couple of hundred yards down. Only people who come down here are the local winos, which is handy for us. Who'll believe them if they see anything? And they're not missed if we have to..." he wrinkled his nose, and tried to look innocent.

The two vampires got out of the car. Marina went to open the door for Milo.

"I can manage," he said curtly, as a new jab of pain ran through him. He grabbed onto the door to straighten up.

"Clearly," she replied, as Regus waved them over.

"This is it." He was pointing at a small metal bridge than hung over a stretch of water. She could see a cabin of some kind, on what looked like an island made of brick...the one working street light shone weakly over a boarded-up pub on the other side of the water. The surrounding area on both sides seemed derelict, more rubble than greenery.

_This is what the world would have looked like...after..._

Off the beaten track, certainly, but was it remote enough for their purposes...

"It's a canal..." growled Milo, disbelief written all over his face. Marina glanced sideways at the other vampire.

"He's right, Regus. Does a canal count as running water?" He shook his head.

"It was a canal...it's been disused for years...the river that it served kept flooding it. The humans gave up, took the locks out, voila, less flooding...and you get a river...or a tributary...it joins up to another...can't remember the name of it...anyway...it should work...it _will_ work..." he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, as much as the two people standing beside him.

"Yes," he sounded more determined now. "It's free-flowing water...they haven't got round to removing the bridge...it's a swing bridge...when it swings onto the little island thingy..." he waved his arms.

"Running water all around..." Marina said softly, her sharp eyes focusing on the cabin on the man-made island. It had to be where the controls for the bridge were housed. And the machinery probably went down into a secure room below...

"No way..." Milo had guessed what she was thinking. She turned to look at him. There was anger in his eyes, but there was a hint of something else too...

_You don't like being caged...contained..._

By her reckoning, they had five to six minutes before...

"It's basically a river now...it has a current...look..." Regus was searching for something at his feet. He spied a soggy newspaper on the litter-strewn towpath, lifted it up, and threw it into the water. The newspaper stayed in place for a moment, then the water carried it away.

"See...running water..." he said, his confidence returning. Admittedly it wasn't the ideal location, but...

"Beggars can't be choosers..." Marina cut in. "Won't someone know if we play about with the controls?" She was taking in just how quiet this place was...no cars about...no inquisitive passers-by...

"Don't think it's that high up on the local Council's list of priorities, do you?" Regus said, pointedly, as the three of them gazed over at the rusting, graffiti-covered structure.

"Someone would have to stay on that island..." she speculated, thinking on her feet, calculating the chances of discovery. They didn't have long. Milo let out a roar, and fell to his knees. The wolf was fighting its way to the surface...

"No...It won't work...get me to a wood...there has to be..." he snarled at her, but Marina stayed calm.

"There isn't time, Milo. This is the best I can do. You have to trust me..."

"Trust you?!" Milo snorted.

"You trusted the biggest monster of us all..." she answered quietly, her eyes fixed on his. "And let me remind you, you told me it was your concern, where you changed..." The werewolf glared at her, knowing she was right.

"It won't work..." he repeated, as another nerve tore inside him. "Aagh..." the breath he took sounded agonising.

"Well I'm making the decision for you," she hissed. "Regus, come on..." Between the two of them, they managed to haul Milo to his feet. His body seemed to be stiffening, his muscles locking, waiting for the familiar bone crunching part of the transformation.

"What if the controls don't work?" Regus whispered, the effort it took to drag the werewolf was taking its toll. "What if we can't get in?" Marina gave him a dark look.

"Then you'd better start praying, Regus, because if I get torn apart by Milo here, you will be next..." Regus blanched, as Milo grinned.

"I knew there was a plus side..."

They hurried across the bridge, stopping halfway to clamber over a small gate. It led down to the control cabin. When the bridge swung into position, it would lie flat along the island. No way off until morning...Werewolves couldn't pass running water...Milo would be hemmed in...in theory...if there was a proper current...if they could get the bridge working...if not, they'd be relying on whatever locks were on that cabin's door...

Marina let go of Milo's arm, as Regus took the strain of his weight. She examined the lock. An old-fashioned Yale lock, not an electronic one. So far, so good...She wiped at the window, the grime that cane away on her gloves...She could see some kind of control desk behind the glass. A bunch of keys sat on a worn chair, a torch sat beside them. She could see an internal door leading somewhere. She scanned the window's edges, looking for signs of an alarm. Nothing. One good push...She looked down at the ground, and found a piece of wire. Workmen never tidied up completely...

"Lady Mary..." She looked round at the warning tone in Milo's voice.

"I know," she replied. "I'm working on it." She slipped the wire into a tiny gap in the window frame. It gave with a soft crack. She prised the window open, and undid the latch. The window was just wide enough for her to slide through. A key hung on a hook behind the door of the cabin. Humans...

She unlocked the door, as Regus heaved Milo through; she was already inspecting the internal door by the controls. Metal. A solid door, with a good stout lock. It had to lead somewhere...Her hands fumbled for the right key. It was a mortice lock so it had to be...the third key turned in the lock. She picked up the torch and carefully made her way down a small set of steps. She clicked the torch on, and swung it round, its flickering light picked out the mechanism that operated the bridge. A metal cage stood to the left. It contained cans of oil, and some tools. And a chunky padlock keeping it secure...

_Two locks...a cage door then a metal door...if he got through..._

The room reeked of oil, and alcohol and something sour...a damp, cloying smell...

"No...I will not..." Milo lurched forwards, the change was almost upon him, there was no time...

"Regus!" snapped Marina. He nodded, and rushed over to the cage, dragging its contents out as quickly as he could.

"It's your choice, Milo...I can lock the door, or the cage, but you will be transforming in here..." Her tone was final. The werewolf glared fiercely, then looked away.

"Regus...Time to see if this bright idea of yours works." She nodded her head at the machinery behind her, as Regus made for the steps. He stopped at the top, and turned, remembering something.

"But one of us will have to stay here, to operate the..." the words dried as he said them. Marina smiled sweetly at him.

"Don't worry; I wouldn't expect you to stay. I will stay with Milo..."The werewolf's curious eyes fastened on Marina's. He smiled grimly.

"Nah...You wouldn't stay...what if the lock breaks?"

"Then it breaks," she said simply.

"I could kill you, and still leave here in the morning..." His eyes never left her face as he said it.

"You could," she agreed. "I'm willing to take the chance. Are you?"

"I won't go in the cage," he said sharply.

"No...I didn't expect you to...though it might be in your own best interests if you did..." she broke his gaze to stare over at the machinery. "I don't think Health and Safety regulations apply to werewolves, but..."

The cage was the safest place for him, he had to admit. He knew he was fierce in his werewolf form, that was partly why Snow had chosen to keep him alive, why he'd been offered 'employment', rather than the usual fate that werewolves met at the hands of vampires. He didn't know how trigger happy the local police would be with a werewolf rampaging through their streets...The cage and the metal door were the best options for him, especially if that idiot Regus couldn't get the damn thing to start...But he didn't have to like it...

"I don't want an audience..." he said curtly, as he took off his jacket, handing it to Marina.

"That goes without saying..." she answered. A muscle spasm hit him hard, shooting through his left arm, forcing him to lean against the cage door. He opened it, and stepped inside, his back to her as he lifted the cord from round his neck, the vial that never left him. He'd covered himself in them when he'd been around the Old Ones. You could never be too sure when that lot were going to turn on you...He held it in his palm for a second, then turned to face her. He held it out for her to take. Just as she held her hand out, he let it slip from his fingers. She caught it without even blinking. Her reactions were fast, he thought.

"Careful with that," he smirked, as he closed the door behind him. Marina smiled, a gleam in her eye.

"I wouldn't be anything but..." She turned the key, and looped the padlock through the bars. "I will be here in the morning. I will let you out. You can trust me on that." She stood in front of him, one hand on the cage.

"I don't believe anyone should be caged, confined, for being what they are...I didn't ask to be recruited, Milo, I'm guessing you didn't ask to be cursed, either...the supernatural was put here for a reason, all of us..." She snapped the padlock shut, and stepped back, just as the Full Moon hit Milo...the howl of pain as his transformation began, in all its horror...

She kept her word, and never looked back at him, as she walked calmly up the steps, and locked the metal door behind her. Regus was waiting nervously at the controls.

"I think I've got it figured out now...you press here and turn this..." he held his breath. The bridge clanged into life, as they heard thumps from below their feet.

"You should go now, you won't have long to get across before it..." Regus shook his head.

"No...I want to see what happens...if this actually works...how strong do you think that cage is? Strong enough to hold him?"

"Who knows?" Marina's concentration was on the bridge, as the rusting hulk swung into line on the island. It was a calculated risk, she hadn't expected the keys to be lying there, it was the secure room underneath that she'd been counting on...

She needed to breathe, her lungs felt so tight. It had been a closer call than she was used to. It would not happen again. She brushed past Regus, and stepped out into the night air. The cold felt good to her, it reminded her that she was 'alive'. She peered over the edge, at the dark water flowing past them;

"If it's not, you and I will be jumping into that..." Regus made a face.

"Hope not. Never got me swimming badge..." She burst out laughing.

"No...Not much call for it in the old days...now…a running from _peasants_ badge..." she said wryly. He smiled back at her warily, relieved that his idea had worked. If it _hadn't..._

"Are you sure you want to do this, Marina?" The Old One looked up at the Moon, shining full and bright above their heads.

"What choice do I have?" She dusted her sleeves, for something to do. "We lost too many Old Ones, Regus, let alone Mr Snow...I'm worried about the future...and the past...I'm worried about the 'Two Brothers' and their dreams..." She leaned back against the cabin door.

"We may have been fatally weakened," she said it in a hushed tone; as though she couldn't believe quite what she was saying. She went on.

"Snow was a First One. I've been wondering about that. He was the only First One I ever knew. Was he one of the two brothers, or was he one of the first recruits..." Regus wore a puzzled expression.

"He was old...but...was he _that_ old? I always thought that it was like a title, a mark of respect, like Lord Harry for Hal..." he said slowly. "Rumour was he was three thousand years old, give or take a century or two...he was around when Jesus of Nazareth was crucified..."

Everyone had heard that story...How Mr Snow had looked up at the man on the cross, and smiled...Depending on who was telling the story, it was even whispered that he'd held a cup up to catch the blood...saying, "I will make your children bleed..."

"The leader of the Old Ones was always referred to as the First One," Regus said carefully. "He was the oldest, and most powerful, but...I don't know, Marina..." he answered honestly.

"If the story about the two brothers...the deal...if it wasn't just a myth we created to explain our origins..." she was hesitating, aware of what she was saying.

"Now hang on," Regus warned, his eyes wide.

"We came from somewhere..." she persisted. "You knew the Scrolls inside out...everything in them came true..."

"Yes..." he admitted, "but how much of that was us helping them along...the odd convenient death...the odd massacre..." he pulled his glasses from his pocket, and began wiping at them with his sleeve. "Prophecies are notoriously unpredictable...they can be twisted to fit a situation, to suit a person's whims..." Marina looked up at him expectantly.

"If we take the story of the two brothers as...fact..." she suggested, tentatively, noticing how Regus reacted. His hands were shaking, he was so nervous. "The two brothers," she continued, "received eternal life, in exchange for their souls...and we came into existence...as a species..."

"You have to take the story, the myth, at face value..." he insisted. "Our history is incomplete...I should know..." he let out a sigh. Marina was impatient now, trying to make her point.

"Yes, but what if the deal was real? What if it's true? If Snow was the last First One…the last brother standing…when he fell…when the rest of the Old Ones fell…would the contract have been broken…" There was a shine to her eyes that Regus disliked. She went on.

"Can there even be Old Ones, without a First? Hal's the oldest now; does that mean he becomes the First?" Regus interrupted her.

"You're saying, with the others gone…" He understood now. She nodded, then looked away again at the water. Ripples and currents…

"Are we just…old vampires…the Old Ones' strength came from being together, by reaching the appropriate age, being evil enough, being invited to join the family…by _surviving_…"

"The initiation ceremonies…the virgin sacrifices…the gold carriage clocks…" Regus's face was wistful.

"It wasn't like that," she muttered, not seeing the sly grin that appeared on his face at first. "The ceremony was…" she smiled sadly. Could they even make any new Old Ones…without Snow's blood…there had to be vampires out there nearing the age for consideration…her kind were never down for long…it would be a younger council than ever before...

Regus stood quietly, mulling everything over, then he said in a low voice;

"Have you tried to…?" She knew exactly just what he was asking. Had she tried to enter a human dwelling, uninvited…had she stepped onto holy ground…had she gazed at a crucifix lately…if she'd lost those abilities…The Old One stayed silent.

"I'll take that as a no…" he said, smiling. "Do you feel any different?" Marina waited, before answering.

"No. Hungry…cold…fangy…" she said weakly. "Oh I'm too old for this...maybe it's better if I take to my heels and run...It's always the same when there's...reorganisation...clearing out...the paperwork...the ordering in of the stakes for the retirements...the sweeping up after..." Regus shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe that they were all gone...

"It's never happened...in all those years, you know, there's always been Old Ones at the top," he looked at her with interest. "I mean, there's always fights...disagreements...the odd faction chancing their luck, but...the entire council...court...whatever...gone...and Snow..." He blew his cheeks out, then folded his arms. Marina turned away.

"Something's not right, Regus. I can feel it."

They both jumped at a sudden howl from beneath their feet. Regus smiled uneasily.

"I hope that's a strong padlock..." Marina shivered. _That's someone walking over my grave_, she thought.

"It's getting a little chilly. Shall we go inside?" He looked at her as though she was mad. She smiled. "Milo has a strong cage to rage in, and another lock to get through." She stepped past him, and sat down by the control desk. He followed her in, blowing on his hands. A loud screeching noise could be heard from behind the metal door. The werewolf was drawing its claws across the bars.

"He's testing it for weakness..." she said calmly. "It will hold." Regus was more doubtful.

"You sound very sure, Marina..." She shrugged, her eyes on the desk. She began to tap her fingers on its surface, impatient for this night to be over. Regus eyed her curiously.

"You didn't do the old, 'set his watch for the wrong time', did you?" The look she gave him in return. "No...that would be beneath you, I know..." The look hardened. "Sorry..." He lowered his head. Every so often he could see glimpses of her, just under the skin...

"He was too interested in our discussion. This was his own fault. Besides, I wouldn't know how to set that thing he wears," she looked down at her feet.

"So you thought about it, then?" he asked, his eyes gleaming. She chose not to answer. "Does it matter how we came to be here, anyway? When all the shouting's over..."

"No," she admitted, "I suppose not...it's where we are going we should be concerned with..." Regus leaned back against the window. He cleared his throat.

"You keep referring to them as the Old Ones..."

"Yes." She looked round at him, with that unflinching gaze.

"Like you're not one of them..." She sighed.

"I wasn't among the final council...court...not sure how that works. Hal was welcomed back into the fold, just before..." she stopped, imagining the split second of fear that Snow had felt, right before...She smiled darkly, to herself. Regus saw the look. It chilled him. That was the look of a true Old One...

"According to our friend Milo, all the places were filled...there was no space left for me..." Regus swallowed, knowing what that meant. A demotion at best...at worst...She caught his uneasy look.

"I'd have been kept alive...I hated him too much for the alternative...He'd have seen killing me as a release, and he never let any of us go...no matter how far we had strayed..." She picked at a loose thread on her coat. "The Old Ones would have thrown everything aside...they would have destroyed the world, with their greed..._His_ greed, all because of a prophecy...They'd been away too long...it would never have worked...and now we are the laughing stock of the supernatural world..." She pulled the thread out, and let it fall to the ground.

"You know the effect he had on all of us. There was no chance of change with him...we have that now. A new start, a new beginning..." There was a loud slam; followed by a howl...she raised her eyebrows.

"I don't think either of us will get much sleep tonight. Who is in charge up here? Who is the local Head?" Regus puffed out his cheeks.

"No one just now...it was someone called Maitland...he should have been among the welcoming party..." She interrupted him.

"There was no welcoming party. Milo said Mr Snow was a little put-out...protocol and all that...UK Ops absence was noted..." Regus wrinkled his nose.

"Laying low...one of their best disappeared in Barry, not long before the Old Ones landed..."

"Staked or did they run?" Regus wrinkled his nose again.

"Golda wouldn't run. She was a tough one. Staked, I'd guess." Marina nodded.

"The Old Ones are..._were_..." she corrected herself, "a secretive family. Their movements would have been on a need to know basis...secrecy is one thing...but at least some of the Heads would have been informed..." Regus caught her meaning.

"You're suggesting that the explosion was..." he dropped his voice to barely a whisper, "...a coup?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, merely...contemplating a theory...I dare say some of the younger vampires wouldn't have wanted to roll the red carpet out...the Old Ones back in circulation...on British soil again, throwing their weight around, leading us into the endgame..."

_So many years of waiting for the right moment, for it all to end in a warehouse in Barry..._

"You're telling me that you haven't thought the same thing, Regus?" The searching gaze she gave him. "It was the one chance to kill off Mr Snow, and the others, the one chance in hundreds of years, to wipe them out...in one fell swoop...a neat, surgical removal of our elite..." He pursed his lips, then rolled his eyes;

"Not that neat...being blown into millions of pieces..."

"But very effective," she countered. He shook his head.

"That werewolf, Tom McNair, knew his way around explosives..."

"As would Milo, I'd bet," she said quietly, one eye on the metal door, as another gut-wrenching howl sounded. "He was here for several months before they landed..."

"Snow didn't trust UK Ops, not fully anyway," he gave her that. "After Wyndam, everything went hush-hush. I doubt more than a couple of vampires would have known about their date of arrival..." Marina gazed out the window.

"I have a suspicious nature, Regus. The destruction of the Old Ones would please many...humanity survives...our own younger generation gains power...the werewolves...alliances shift..." she glanced back at the door. "We have been complacent, recruiting fools and thugs. Our strength, as a kind, lies in being in the shadows. I think some people looked the other way...and hoped for the worst..."

She was _so_ hungry...The blood Regus had served, had calmed her nerves, but it didn't have the same strength as a kill. Absolute nonsense, she told herself, she had been surviving without killing for fifty-odd years, blood drawn and taken quickly from a blood bank worked. It had for her, at least, until...Matthew. The sheer dark thrill of having the power of life and death in her hands...then she remembered Matthew's eyes...

"The serious in-fighting will begin soon, if it hasn't already," she declared. "All the little children will want to make names for themselves..." Regus looked solemn for a moment, then said;

"There's still time for you to disappear, you know. No one knows you're back yet..." Apart from the two thugs she'd dispatched as soon as their usefulness was at an end, who were now drifting in the wind in Barry...Hal, Milo, Regus and Michaela, and whoever Mr Rook was...

"Retire, you mean?" She smiled a little wistfully. "There's no way back, for any of us...we keep going..."

_Never look back...don't dwell on the past...the future is all that matters..._

It was easier to drown in the blood, to let it have its way, much harder to live...She'd shed one skin, after another, over the years, so many different lives she'd led...so many she'd taken...

"Get some sleep, Regus. He seems to have calmed down," she angled down in the chair, pulling her coat tight around her. Regus sat down on the ground.

"Not much chance of a decent night's kip," he grumbled. "It's like Prague all over again..." She smiled her most understanding smile;

"That was your own fault...you had to have a midnight snack..." He yawned; the night was catching up on him. He hadn't run that fast since...1890...He closed his eyes, and rested his head against the wall.

"How was I supposed to know she was a nun? She didn't have her wimple thingy on, and what was a nun doing out at that time of night, I ask you..."

She let him ramble on about the past for a while, waiting for him to fall asleep. It wasn't long before she heard his breathing change, and his words stumble into nothing. He began to snore loudly. She envied his ability to drift off. She rarely slept well. She closed her eyes.

_Someone has to take charge..._

It has to be someone strong...

_Someone who would be respected, but above all, feared..._

Lady Mary...

_Yes._

* * *

Milo opened his eyes slowly. His head felt like someone was sandpapering his brain. His mouth wasn't much better, even his teeth ached. His mouth was so dry...He lifted his head slightly, taking in his surroundings. He was still breathing, that was good. Nobody dead, either. He wouldn't have put money on that. He sat up. Torn clothes, of course, he'd had no time to strip before the change. Damn it, he'd liked that shirt too...He lifted the clothes, a quick inspection, all beyond repair. He threw them down in temper. Not the first time he'd been naked in front of a vampire, but it would be the last. He got to his feet, cricked his neck to one side, then the other. He pushed against the bars, but the cage was still securely locked. Sunlight was streaming down the steps, through the open door at the top. His gaze fell on the sleeping vampire who lay opposite his cage, her head resting on a large black holdall. What few possessions he had were in that bag. He growled at the intrusion of his space. She'd probably gone through his things, not that there was much to find...He'd left his old life behind a long time ago, when the wolf had scratched him...when he'd turned his back on the world...She had kept her word though...she had stayed...

"Lady Mary..." Her eyes flashed open, black for a second, then the familiar blue. Asleep, but not deeply, he thought. He imagined he'd been pretty restless last night...confined spaces made the wolf more angry, as though it felt cheated of its one chance a month to roam free...

"Milo," she answered, pulling herself upright. "How are you? " There seemed to be genuine concern on that pretty face, but then, vampires could be consummate actors when they wanted to be...

"You had a rough night. The wolf didn't like his surroundings. I can't say I blame him," she said, casting a glance around her, as she stood up. "You must be thirsty, and hungry, after that. God knows if there's anywhere decent to eat. I sent Regus out a while ago..."

"How long?" he snapped.

"What do you mean?" she said, innocently.

"How long have you been watching me?" He was edgy; the wolfish temper was still nipping at his nerves. She was studying him.

"Not long. I waited for you to calm...even asleep, you were much better company than Regus..." He laid his hands on the bars, and chuckled. His grin vanished when he saw her lift up the bag.

"I take it you went through my stuff?" She shook her head.

"No. There would be no point, would there? I don't take you for an idiot, Milo; you're far too canny to leave any traces..." She dropped the bag right in front of the cage door. "If you don't want to tell me about your past, that's your choice. Our old lives are gone, from the minute we are bitten or scratched. It's often better to leave them behind..." she said, thoughtful. She'd noticed a few scars on his chest that didn't match the wolf's claw marks. He was powerfully built, wherever he'd come from. She wasn't _that_ blind...she had stood in front of the bars, looking down at him as he slept. Where did you come from...He had the manner of a soldier. She'd spent enough time on the battlefields of the world to spot them. For a second, she'd seen a flash of something in those calculating eyes, then the shutters had come down. She tilted her head, assessing him, her old eyes searching for something...

"Did she turn from you...when you finally told her...?" His eyes locked onto her's. There was anger there, for a fleeting moment, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "Some would call you an opportunist, a turncoat, a mercenary who would do anything to survive..." Milo snorted.

"Been looking in a mirror lately, Lady Mary?" The sarcastic glare was back.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive...vampires understand that better than anyone...Do you want to know why Mr Snow trusted you?" She blinked slowly, her voice softening. Milo sneered.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." The hint of a smile crossed her face. She handed him back the necklet that contained his blood vial, then she laid her right hand on one of the bars, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Most vampires can look at a human, and know their weaknesses, be it greed or fear, or a longing for something better..." Her face was so still, so serious. "When I look at you, I see something else, something Snow would have too...you were meant to be one of us...but the wolf got to you first..."

There was a jolt of recognition from Milo.

"Bullshit..." he spat. Marina stood rooted to the spot.

"Some humans stand out for recruitment, for better things...you were one of them..." She turned on her heel, and made for the stairs.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Lady Mary?" he yelled, bitterly. She stopped at the foot of the steps. "The keys?" She turned, fixed him with her most imperious stare.

"You have them already. You had them all night." He looked down at the ground, then back up at the vampire. She had surprised him. The keys were inside the cage, just a few feet away. She had dropped them through the bars, just as he changed...

* * *

A pad and pen sat on the desk. A series of links, names, places, times...Rook sat, his finger brushed a cup of now cold tea. Where had Marina been? Why had she killed Chandler? Their research had only gone back to 1855. She gave the impression of being an older vampire, and she was known for being particularly bloodthirsty, that was clear from his predecessor's notes. The name of the child vampire, Hetty, lay circled, at the centre of the pad. The Old Ones, the much-vaunted old guard of vampires, had been destroyed. Their power finally broken after thousands of years...an uncertain time for the vampires...and humanity...

He drew a line down from Hetty's name to Marina's. Chandler had been maddeningly coy about her origins, when he'd been interviewed. She was an old vampire, but he hadn't mentioned just how old...1855...Rook made a quick calculation. Was she an Old One? They rarely appeared in Britain, as a result they had not been seen as a threat. That had been an error...She didn't appear to be one of the final group gathered in Barry, but...She hadn't come in with the others...was she plotting to take over, and succeed where the others had failed? There were too many gaps in their information to make an educated guess...the vampires were starting to turn on themselves, he knew that for a fact. Someone would have to take over...new blood...an ally...or a potential threat...The number of incidents of casual violence had risen...who would rise...who would fall...

He reached for the phone.

"Arthur...I want you to open up the lower vault. I want to look at everything we have on the vampire known as Marina...yes, again...no...I don't have a second name for her..." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Cross reference it with the name "Bloody Mary"...yes...I'll hold..."

He looked down at the page in front of him. An opportunity had presented itself...


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

The vampire sat, his eyes focused on the two-way glass that separated him from the humans on the other side. He looked down at his handcuffed wrists, still smarting. His arresting officers had been very handy with their fists, in between railing down blows on him with their batons. He could see bruises already appearing on his skin...The camera hadn't been working, thankfully. He had become too cocky...he always did...it was like a switch flipped inside him...He tugged at the cuffs, then groaned at how badly his head ached. He felt so groggy...hung over...He smiled dryly...

_Well...I am..._

One of them had thwacked him across the head; he couldn't remember much else after that. There was a fine coating of dried blood on his hands...just a taste...just a tiny taste...He went to raise them to his mouth, as two uniformed officers entered the room.

"Get up, you piece of..." The older of the two lunged at him, hauling him to his feet.

"Come on...I was only doing thirty-three in a thirty area...officer..." The vampire chuckled to himself. His release was a done deal; just as soon as that lawyer turned up, the one who smoothed things over whenever there were...difficulties...He should be on his way. The man he'd attacked had been a waste of space to begin with...now he was just cluttering up some mortuary slab...no loss really...He'd done the boys in blue a favour by having a little snack...Strange, though. His call had gone to an answer machine, not to the usual anonymous voice at the other end. He'd left a veiled message, as they took his fingerprints;

"Hello...I need a lawyer...I'm in a bit of bother..." The older officer had grunted at that one. "I'll explain when someone gets here..." Vampire code for "I've screwed up. Send the legal crew in..."

They'd searched for another camera. It had to be done by the book. The slightest flaw in the investigation...

"What about our phones?" It was the younger officer, barely out of training college. The vampire raised his head, just an inch. Damn camera phones...

"No...Guy I know, over in Salford, did that. Defence got the whole thing thrown out. C.P.S. likes it the old-fashioned way. He's not going anywhere. The suits can sort it tomorrow."

That had been three hours ago. No one had shown. He was beginning to feel a tinge of unease.

"Thirty-three in a...?" The older policeman could barely contain his fury. "I've seen some things in my time...but that bloke's neck...you're nothing but...animal's too good a name for you..."

_Ah...but that's exactly what I am..._thought the vampire. _An animal...a predator...the most ruthless of killers...Can't get any more animal than that..._

He licked his lips. There was just the tiniest of drops left...

He felt a dull blow clip the back of his head. He fell to his knees. His eyes flashed black, the automatic vampire response to a threat. He only just managed to stop a hiss escaping.

_Remember where you are..._

He stood up slowly, and turned to look at his attacker. The older policeman stood, his eyes blazing.

"Have I upset you somehow," his eyes caught the stripes, "Sergeant?" his tone so sarcastic; the other man clenched his fists, struggling to keep his hands to himself. The younger officer looked nervously between the two; his face was still white from the crime scene. It had been his first...he hoped it would be his last...

"Guv..." he said quietly.

The vampire laughed, but it caught in his throat at the glare from the senior officer, who snapped;

"Drunken bastard..."

Oh, he'd been drunk, alright. Only, not quite the way the sergeant meant...An argument with a fool...too drunk to see the warning signs...a lonely alley...a brutal death...the light that shone in his eyes...

"Dear God..." The gasps of horror...the young P.C. throwing up by the police car...He'd still been blood drunk, not really caring what he looked like, or the body that lay mangled beneath him.

"_Oops_!" he smirked, a bloody smear of a smile on his face. He was sobering up fast now, though. A lawyer should have arrived ages ago. He cursed himself for getting caught; it was a noticeable kill, too noticeable. And the network that worked so hard to keep his kind's excesses hidden was in disarray. Some trouble with the higher-ups...way above his head...come to think of it, he hadn't seen any of the other vampires he knew in this city either...what was the name of the local police contact? He straightened, then shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd like to speak to D.S. Black...I have information..."

"D.S. Black resigned last week, allegations of corruption, and if you think dropping hints about a few nicked cars, and who robbed the sub post-office last Thursday, will get you off a murder charge..." The sergeant thought there was just a hint of fear in the man's eyes..._Good..._

A loud knock on the door broke the tension. He nodded, reluctantly, to the young P.C., who opened the door. A hand passed a note through the gap.

"What is it?" the sergeant yelled, annoyed at the interruption. The P.C. handed him the note. His expression darkened, as he read it quickly, his eyes filling with anger. He held the note away from him as though it burnt, not believing his own eyes;

"Transfer?! Early indications are that there's no trace evidence on the body...wounds on the body are consistent with...an _animal_ attack?!" The vampire took a deep breath into his long-dead lungs. All the hallmarks of his kind clearing up...thank God...He smiled to himself. The 'transfer' part of the note puzzled him. Probably nothing...they'd have to get him away as soon as possible, before the little chinks appeared...before they could find a working camera...

"He gets a ride to Barton Street, though. They want to ask him about a series of thefts...petty cash boxes from churches..." The vampire bit back a smile. Someone had a sense of humour..._Nice one, mate...whoever you are..._

The sergeant was furious now. He'd caught the man red-handed, covered in blood, coated in the stuff, as though he'd bathed in it. But there'd been no sign of a weapon, no blade had been found...Half of C.I.D. were off with flu, the other half were out on the razz, celebrating...too drunk to come in...His uniforms had been hard pushed by a football match, rival fans crowding down the narrow lanes...until they'd turned into that one...

"The van's waiting, sir." The young policeman said it quietly, wanting to be away from this room, from the man in the handcuffs, the man with the strange, dead eyes...There was something just...wrong about him...

"Well, apparently, in spite of the fact we found you drenched in another man's blood...you are an innocent bystander..." The sergeant said it through gritted teeth. Barton Street could have him. The man's smile sickened him, as though he'd known this reprieve was coming. Something wasn't quite right with this whole sordid mess...

"One more thing..._sir_..." The vampire turned lazily, not expecting the blow to the head. The sergeant grinned as he crumpled to the floor. He stepped over the prone man.

"They didn't say you had to be conscious..."

* * *

He came to in a dingy interview room. No handcuffs this time, he thought. A quick "Hold my hands up...I'm sorry I brought unwelcome attention to our cause..." Home in time for breakfast...He scanned the room. Paint flaking, bare walls. He was sat at another table. This one was bolted to the floor. He tried to move the chair, but it barely moved. He ducked down under the table to find that it too was bolted down. _Keep calm,_ he thought. Probably normal procedure...We can be a bit...He could hear an annoying electric buzzing sound. He looked up at the strip light above his head. The light was flickering. A loose connection.

He could hear muted voices; human heartbeats...he saw a face appear briefly at the small round window in the door. A moment later, the door opened. A fair-haired man strode in. He seemed to be intently studying a tattered manila folder in his hands. He was followed closely by two other men. All wore smart, if a little old-fashioned, grey suits. The vampire smirked. C.I.D. in these parts seemed to be a few years out of date. Easy-peasy...Wait for the cavalry...they'd get here, they always did...

He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, forgetting how rigid it was. It was then that he spotted the video camera, tucked out of sight in the far left corner of the room...and the first bead of sweat ran down his face...

The fair-haired man walked slowly over to the table, seemingly lost in thought. He stopped dead, closed the folder, and turned his attention to the vampire sitting in front of him. Such sharp eyes, thought the vampire. Dead eyes...

"You fed quite well a few hours ago," the man began, "but we can get you some tea, if you're thirsty..."

The vampire blinked. Just what kind of police station was this? The man continued.

"We had to get you out of something of a pickle, didn't we Alan?" One of the men nodded nervously, unable to take his eyes off the vampire. The fair-haired man sat calmly down, opposite him, and placed the manila folder on the surface of the table. He drew out a pen from his suit's breast pocket, clicked it once, and opened the folder. A blank page sat on top of several newspaper clippings, along with some other documents, and a set of photographs. The vampire's eyes were drawn to them, and one photograph in particular. A man dressed in a soldier's uniform. Black and white, of course, but clearly recognisable as...

The man flipped the folder shut.

"Michael Burgess...born 1900...died...recruited...very appropriately, in your case...1918...among the last of the vampires' battlefield recruits..." The man raised his piercing gaze. "It's not noted who recruited you...would you care to enlighten us? We like things to be neat and tidy." The vampire tried to look as casual as possible. He would bluff his way out of this somehow...He looked blankly at the man, as though he was mad.

"Haven't a clue what you're on about, mate..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Quite." The man's smile was cold. He laid down the pen, and folded his hands together. His expression changed to a look of studied concern.

"This is just a little chat, to see how you're getting on...How you're doing after the deaths of your...what would you call the Old Ones? Family...ancestors...despotic mass murderers..." The vampire's eyes hardened at the calculated insult. The man smiled politely in response.

"I'm sorry. That was very insensitive of me, as well as politically incorrect of me to make such a remark. I must be due a refresher course in supernatural anti-discrimination...Make a note of that, Alan."

"What are you on about? Supernatural..." the vampire smiled, as though the man was an idiot. "I was drunk...I wake up next to a dead guy in some alley..."

"Quite a common occurrence for you, I imagine...though you were very careless to get caught..." the man chided. Burgess suppressed his natural instinct to rip the man's throat out, talking to him as though he was some brat from the streets...

"And you are?" he enquired sharply. The man smiled the briefest of smiles.

"Rook."

"Mr Rook," Burgess shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and leant forward, placing his hands palm side up. "I don't know what you think I am, who I am, I'm just a guy who got too drunk..." A well-rehearsed argument...one he'd used many times over the years. _Play the game. Be polite. Act daft. All else fails...lie your head off..._

"Yes, we've established that." Rook's tone was sharpening, he was fast losing patience. Time was of the essence. "So...if I hold this up in front of you..." He pulled a crucifix from where it had been concealed, underneath his jacket. The effect on Burgess was instant. He reacted just as Rook had known he would, his eyes flashed black, as he hissed inhumanly. The monster under the skin...The two men lurking behind Rook rushed forward, but he waved them away.

"Yes, I thought so..." He kept his gaze steady on the vampire, the cross at arm's length. "Drop the pretence, Burgess. I know all about you. I know where you live, where you work, where you normally get your supply of fresh blood...her family buried her last week...would you like to see her grave?" It was said matter-of-fact, but it caught the vampire by surprise. He blinked once, the only suggestion of any emotion, behind those dark, dark eyes...

"Lower the cross..." he hissed, inwardly seething. Rook smiled cooly.

"Leave us." The younger of the two men remonstrated.

"But sir..."

"I _said..."_ Rook's tone was brusque. The two men left the room quietly. His eyes never left the vampire's as he slowly lowered the crucifix, laying it on the table. He drew the folder across, so that it covered the cross completely. Burgess's eyes flicked back to their normal green. He took a deep breath.

"What _are_ you, Mr Rook? This isn't a normal police interview, is it? What is this...Special Branch?" Rook's smile wavered. The vampire picked up on it immediately. He'd touched a nerve.

"You could say that..." Rook was regaining control.

"I think I'll wait until my brief gets here." Burgess went to put his feet up on the table, then remembered the cross lying there. Instead, he hooked his hands behind his head, and sat back, still sure of himself. Rook smile was condescending.

"If your brief _was_ Nick Cutler..." he said softly. Burgess noted the past tense. A trace of unease appeared on that seemingly young face.

"Yes..." Rook continued, "I have it on very good authority that he disappeared, a few weeks back. He was most likely staked, and really...the law doesn't strictly apply to monsters like you..."

"Where am I?" Burgess snapped.

"You're in a place of safety...for your own good." Rook laid his hands on the folder. "You're not the first vampire to enter these walls. You won't be the last. I'm not looking for you; I'm looking for someone else." He hesitated. It was a gamble, certainly, but he needed information.

"A deal?" Burgess asked, his mouth dry, eyes eager. He was beginning to feel the walls pressing in; his hunger was making him edgy. Rook nodded slowly.

"In exchange for..." the vampire enquired, slyly, he always had one eye on survival. It was as much a part of a vampire's make-up as the hunger, or the cruelty.

"Your freedom. An end to the cycle of hunger and killing." He allowed Burgess a moment to deliberate. The vampire clicked his fingers, hummed a tune, then shrugged his shoulders, and sighed wearily. _Play the game..._

"Where do I sign?" Rook's face tightened. The vampire had sold himself so cheaply.

"If I mentioned the name...Lady Mary...Bloody Mary..."

The vampire's blood-shot green eyes widened, as did his mouth. There was much more than a glimmer of fear there, thought Rook, more like horror. Just what he wanted to see...the name alone had terrified Burgess. He was now visibly shaking, what colour had been there had drained away. The vampire looked sickly; his face was pallid in the glare of the room's lights.

"She's...dead...isn't she?" he whispered, gripping the edge of the table. "She'd have been with..." he looked down at the table, alarmed at how easily he'd betrayed that secret. "...with the Old Ones..." Rook's understanding smile, like a cat cornering its prey.

"You are on our...nice list...you don't want to be on our...not so nice list...That tends to end badly..." The vampire looked up at those cold eyes, understanding it so clearly. Betray your kind, or...

"What do you want to know...?"

* * *

Rook closed the door quietly behind himself. He called after one of his colleagues, who stood shuffling papers at a desk;

"Alan?" The man turned and hurried over. Rook had the manila folder open in his hands. He flipped it shut, and dropped it into the hands of the younger man.

"We won't need this file again. You can file it under "Closed". Mr Burgess will not be bothering us again..." There was a finality to Rook's voice that unnerved him. The certainty that Mr Rook had, that he was always right...

"Yes sir." Rook moved away, and strode down the corridor. Alan walked towards the interview room, knowing what he would find on the other side of the door. He opened it, to find the unmistakeable scent...of burnt wood...an odd, metallic bite to the air...the pile of clothes where a vampire had sat...where a heap of grey-black ashes now lay...

"Ashes to ashes..." he murmured, as he swept the remains into a black bin bag. "Dust to dust..." as another layer of humanity peeled away...

* * *

"How can you eat that, at this time in the morning?"

They were sat in what passed for a continental-style cafe in these parts. Red and white plastic tablecloths, fake flowers in tiny vases...Still, the food was...passable...especially to the vampire and the werewolf sitting beside her. Marina watched Regus chase a stray baked bean round his plate with a crumb of toast, whilst Milo finished wolfing down his own breakfast. Every morning after a Full Moon was the same for him. He could eat his way through the menu, and still not be satisfied. She looked down at her own breakfast, a croissant and a coffee, then she looked over at Regus's plate again.

"You do know what's in black pudding, don't you?" she said, barely able to keep her disgust to herself.

"This is very good; you know..." mumbled Regus, as he mopped another piece of toast around his plate. "It's animal blood." He took another bite.

"Maybe not in Bolivia..." muttered Milo darkly. He could still feel his wolfish nature. It was angry at being shut in, at being denied its freedom, its one night to rage...

Marina stifled a grin. As she waited for them both to finish, she gazed out of the window. Across the road from the cafe was a children's playground. Swings full of happy children, parents pushing them higher and higher...haunted eyes...haunted dark eyes...

_Help me...Mother..._

A shiver ran through her. She flinched as she saw a little boy fall to the ground, his mother racing to catch him up in her arms. She caught her breath.

_The past is gone...nothing can be done to alter it...the future is..._

"Lady Mary." Milo. She turned back to her unlikely companions.

"Yes, we should be getting on." She addressed Regus. "Do you have everything you need?"

He scratched at his head.

"Yeah. I just need somewhere to spread me stuff...let the dog see the rabbit..."

"Was that a dig?" Milo glared as he said it. Regus was quick to answer.

"No..._No!_ I meant..." Milo's glare became a wide grin. "Relax...I'm just pulling your fangs..." Regus laughed, uneasily. Not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been better if the werewolf had gone up in the blast at Stoker's...His eyes travelled to Marina's. An unspoken warning was there in her look. _Take care..._

She slipped a newspaper out of the rack on the wall, turning straight to the obituaries section. Nothing. She flicked back through the paper, looking for any mention of Matthew's...death. She found it at the foot of a page;

"Distinguished Professor of Antiquities, Matthew Chandler has died peacefully, at the age of..." The usual platitudes. "One of the finest in his field...a sad loss to..." She found what she was searching for. "Funeral to be held at the Church of St Peter and St Paul, Chaldon..." Two saints, Matthew...She checked the time and the date. "All welcome."

She passed the paper over to a curious Milo, and tapped her finger on the notice. He scanned it quickly, whilst Regus peered over his shoulder.

"Old friend, Marina?" he enquired. Milo grunted.

"You could say that..." he drawled. "You going?" Marina sighed.

"Not sure it's really appropriate...in the circumstances..."

"Circumstances?" asked Regus, not comprehending.

"Given that she was the one who killed him..." said Milo, in a low voice. Regus's eyes widened.

"Ah...so that was the..."

"Yes."

"Yes, technically, I could see how that would be..._awkward_..." he said it carefully, not wishing to anger her.

"Yeah," Milo said, grinning, "How did you know Matthew? Well I drained him dry...Pass the vol-au-vents..." Regus held his breath, and shut his eyes, waiting for Marina's temper to flare, but she wore a strange, serene expression. He again noticed the disconnection, the separation...

"I agree, it's not quite the thing to discuss at a wake...but..." she lifted her coffee. "Funerals can be very...enlightening affairs. You never know who's going to turn up, to pay their respects..." Milo gave her a speculative look.

"Mr Rook..." he said, knowing what she was thinking. Regus looked nonplussed.

"Who's Mr Rook?" he enquired, curious.

"I'll let Milo fill you in on that." She stood up to pay the bill. When she came back to the table, the atmosphere had changed. Regus was restless, fidgeting like mad. He leant forward, and whispered;

"Clean-up squads...secret government...why wasn't I told?"

"What are you worried about, Regus? That they chase you for unpaid library fines from the 1800s?" she mocked. Regus stammered.

"I...that book was just...it slipped into my pocket...Can I help it if the British Library has a very haphazard approach to its arcane literature? That book was vital to my research of the Scrolls...it was just sitting there..." Marina cut in.

"Regus..." He raised his head expectantly.

"Yes?" The serene look was gone. In its place was one of mild annoyance.

"You are an Old One," she stated. He shook his head.

"I didn't have the initiation...I didn't..."

"Enough!" she hissed. "You are an Old One, if I say you are..." He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes down. "Perhaps it's time you started _acting_ like one..." She left him with that thought for a moment.

"Now, before we draw any more attention or I lose my patience completely, and stake you..." Regus smiled warily. He could never tell whether she was being entirely serious or not. He hoped for the later. _That was the Old Ones for you...mad as a box of..._

* * *

She told Milo to drive south. Deddington was as good a place as any for the vampire recorder to set about his work. There would be seclusion, peace and quiet, and hopefully, no prying eyes...

Regus whistled when he saw the place.

"Oh...nice..." The Old Ones liked their home comforts...all those years running from mobs of villagers...

"Don't get too comfortable," Marina commented. "I want to move quickly, once we're prepared."

"Got ya." He gave her a sage nod, as he opened the boot of the car. "It'll take me a while. The runes have to be exact, if I don't get them right, first time, I can't exactly go to Tesco's for some more 'paper'."

"You have a week." She declared. Her eyes set. Regus knew what lay on his shoulders. There would only be one chance to get it right. The slightest mistake...the slightest slip...and it would fall apart. She handed him the briefcase.

"I'm relying on you. The future of our kind, Regus..."

"No pressure then?!" She tilted her head as she passed him. _No pressure..._

He set up what he'd been able to salvage from the warehouse in the study. Despite the conditions of the garage, most of his notebooks, volumes filled painstakingly over the years, were still legible, if a little mildewed. He took a turn of the room, taking in the book-lined walls, the comfortable chairs. A far cry from the flat he shared with his beloved, he admitted. They would go up in their world, if the plan succeeded. Marina repaid her debts; it was a matter of honour for her. He'd known the minute he walked through the door whose house it had been.

"Yes it was his..." he started at the sound of her voice. He hadn't heard her enter. She was standing by the fireplace. "How did you know?" He smiled wistfully.

"The painting. The one at the top of the stairs." Not the largest or the most valuable in the house, but for its former owner, a reminder of what happened when an Old One forgot their way;

"I destroyed her..."

Marina paused, then gave him a brittle smile.

"Anyway..." she handed him a small vial. "Milo very generously donated this for your use. Don't get it mixed up with your more...usual ink..." He took the vial from her, holding it carefully, between his forefinger and thumb, as he gazed at the liquid it contained.

"No...Saw that happen in a game of Bolivian Roulette...like Russian only..."

"Yes. Hal played that trick on..." she fell silent, wondering how he was coping. The oldest vampire still 'breathing'...She changed the subject.

"How will you actually write the runes down? I'm guessing that they didn't have felt tip pens in the old days..."

"A blend of Indian ink, a few parts blood, for that bit of...I'll write the runes with pins...I'll have to pick out the figures that way...it'll take time..."

"You have a week, Regus, no more..." she confirmed, as she closed the door, content with his preparations.

Over the next few days, he worked slowly, meticulously, to create the new Scroll. He tore the skin into three segments, roughening up the edges to make it look more authentic. It was supposed to be hundreds, if not thousands of years old, it had to look worn. He tried various mixes of blood, both human and werewolf, until he was happy with the consistency. The next stage was to practice the runes Marina had wanted, as well as a couple he'd suggested, over and over, until he was happy. And finally, to create the Scroll, step by step, picking out the runes in detail, with a small pin, like the ones he knew they'd used in the Far East, centuries before. That was where the Scrolls had supposedly been created, when the Two Brothers had come round from their dreams of blood and pain. His eyes hurt from squinting at the pieces of skin, a magnifying glass in one hand, the pin in the other. He had no idea who would be in that room...who would inspect the Scroll...

"Regus..." _A faint voice in the darkness._

"Regus..." _The voice grew louder, more insistent._

"_Regus!"_ His head shot up, dislodging his glasses. He'd fallen asleep on the Chesterfield, exhausted. Marina stood by the window, staring down at the newly-drawn Scroll on the desk. She touched the parchment, tracing the edges.

"I didn't use the werewolf blood, in the end," he yawned. He watched her lift a piece carefully, almost respectfully. "I used a drop of human blood, but it's mostly Indian ink, with a drop of charcoal, and some..." he stopped. Marina was gazing intently at the final piece, the most important part of the plan.

"Your workmanship is exquisite," she commented, examining every line, every stroke. He beamed proudly. A rare compliment from an Old One...

"Thank you." He was studying her closely. She was dressed in black again. Mourning clothes. He kicked himself. The funeral...

"You're definitely going then?" It was a little unusual, a vampire going to the funeral of their victim, but then again, Old Ones were unusual creatures at the best of times...

"Yes. I need to..."

"Pay your respects..." he said quietly.

"To say goodbye..." she replied.

* * *

The sun was shining down on the Church of St Peter and St Paul. An old church, part Anglo-Saxon, surrounded by its own graveyard. As traditionally English as you could get, she mused. It suited Matthew, this place, where his bones would lie for eternity. That pleased her for some reason. _She'd had no choice,_ she told herself that. _If she kept on telling herself that often enough, she might eventually believe it..._

She hung back under the trees that edged the wall of the churchyard. Milo stood beside her, for once keeping his sarcastic comments to himself. They'd arrived at the crack of dawn, reasoning that no one would be about to notice them, parking behind the cricket pitch. She'd laid a single red rose at the freshly opened grave. She read the inscription on the headstone. He was being buried with his wife...So far they'd seen no one, apart from a harassed vicar, and a woman walking her dog through the graves.

"That's disrespectful..." Marina glared at the woman. Milo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah...and putting the people in the ground in the first place is..."

At a quarter to eleven, a hearse appeared, followed by the funeral cortege. The cars drew up to the gate. She recognised Luke, the image of his father at the same age. It took her by surprise, the resemblance. He had the same kind expression...it could have been Matthew standing there, as large as life. Elizabeth was more her mother's daughter, blond-hair tied back from her face, grief lining her face. She bore no likeness to Matthew. Marina could see children at her side. Matthew's grandchildren...The family he'd had, because she had saved him, by walking away...until now...

The coffin was being raised onto the shoulders of the bearers. They watched silently as it was carried into the church. Marina turned, blinking back a tear. _Why had he been the one_...Milo remained, his eyes searching the faces of the people now filing in.

"Well, well...Mr Rook..." he declared. Marina spun round. Walking at the back of the procession, dressed as smartly as she remembered, was the man with the cold, cold eyes. She saw him stop at the open grave. He seemed to be looking at the flowers that had already been laid by the side, waiting to cover the grave. He knelt down, as if taking a closer look at the names on the tributes. Another shiver ran through Marina. He stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. He seemed disappointed, she thought. _You were expecting me to come..._

They watched him enter the church, then Marina broke cover, and made for the now empty lane.

"What are you looking for?" asked Milo, as he strode after her. She didn't turn around.

"Which car looks the most inconspicuous?" No sign of grey vans today...Milo caught her up easily. He pointed to a silver car, parked off the lane.

"That one?" She retraced her steps.

"Why?" Milo narrowed his eyes.

"Because it's plain, there's no dealer's sticker, and..." he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, as he peered into the car. "A Bible and a crucifix, on the passenger seat. What's the betting he's got a flask of holy water in the glove compartment?"

"Could be the vicar's..." she offered. His eyes appraised the car.

"Nah," he argued, "Don't think the Church of England run to this kind of model...Still...looks like he came alone..." She wasn't sure whether she should be glad of that, or insulted. She moved round to the front of the car. A small card lay discreetly, beneath one of the windscreen wipers. Marina took the card, and drew a small envelope from her pocket. Sometimes the old ways were best. No need to make an enemy...yet...She replaced the card with the envelope. Milo was eager to know what the card said, but she turned to go back towards the church. The service had already begun when they arrived back. Marina could hear the strains of a hymn, voices raised to God. Was he listening, she wondered...

Her eyes immediately went to what looked like another business card, lying at the foot of the headstone. To anyone else, it would have looked like a card had fallen from a floral tribute, but her sharp eyes caught it. You are making sure I get the message, Mr Rook...She picked up the second card, glanced at it, before handing it to Milo. "They're the same," she said, throwing a glance at the church. Milo read the card details out loud.

"Dominic Rook..." A set of phone numbers, and something interesting...co-ordinates...He flipped the card over, to find a handwritten note:

_Lady Mary. I would like to suggest a meeting. I believe we have matters to discuss._

Milo handed the card to Marina.

"We shouldn't be here. He knew you'd come. It's a trap." He warned.

"No...He _hoped_ I'd come. There's a difference..." she grabbed a handful of the earth that lay waiting. She closed her eyes, and spoke softly in her own language. The werewolf didn't understand the words, but he understood their meaning. She was praying...

She opened her eyes, and cast the earth into the grave. It would be there when they laid him to rest...

"Ashes to ashes...dust to dust..."

* * *

Rook stood, some way back from the mourners, his eyes searching the faces for anyone who resembled Marina. An Old One...another Old One...in all but name...Burgess had been very obliging. He was sure that she would have come...though quite why...He watched as the family paid their last respects. The mourners were leaving now, the wake was being held nearby. Finally he was alone at the grave. He bent to search the tributes. He couldn't see his business card. That gave him a slim hope. He walked back to his car. He stared at the windscreen, at the envelope that was waiting for him. He smiled.

"Dust to dust..." he said quietly, his eyes shining.


End file.
